PostNero Traumatic Stress Disorder
by Pamdizzle
Summary: Spock finds himself the victim of escalating xenophobic hate crimes at the hands of a crew member. K/S Slash. M for language, sex and violence. Now Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Spock had been working in Science Lab 35, or the greenhouse, as many crewmembers tended to call it, when the first incident occurred. It was 0300 hours, well into the ship's gamma shift and he was the only occupant. Spock would not admit to enjoying anything, however, the quiet of the labs during these early ship hours were quite enjoyable for a Vulcan. So rarely did Spock have the opportunity to work uninterrupted on his various projects and experiments that moments like these were in fact treasured by the Vulcan. It allowed Spock to surround himself with his first calling—scientific discovery. His time spent in the labs during these occasions not only allowed him to be absolutely productive, but it afforded him time to think about…or well…fantasize about a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed captain.

At the start of the mission, seventeen point six months ago, Spock had been weary of Captain Kirk, regardless of the blooming camaraderie that had sprung up between them during their time fighting together on the Narada. Once they returned to Earth, Spock had planned to resign from Starfleet and report to the new Vulcan colony. He had already dropped the academic misconduct charges against Kirk and instead recommended the unofficial, but undeniably soon-to-be Captain for a commendation for original thinking. After speaking with his counterpart, however, Spock had decided to explore that camaraderie by retaining his commission and applying for the position of First Officer aboard the _Enterprise_, a position which Kirk had not delegated even up until the point of departure. The Captain's easy acceptance of his offer to fill the role was indication enough that Kirk had been waiting for Spock to apply.

It was only two days after their launch that Nyota had approached Spock with the offer to continue their previous, short-lived romantic relationship. Because she had been supportive of him during the loss of his planet and mother, providing him with the emotional acceptance that he had needed during that time, Spock believed it only logical to comply with her request. And it had been amenable, for a time. Spock viewed Nyota as a compassionate, kind and intelligent being—a logical companion and a good choice in prospective life mate. Eight months into their mission, however, while on shore leave at star base 17, their relationship came to an abrupt, but amicable end. Spock and Nyota had planned their allotted three days of shore leave together and were intending to become physically intimate. While Spock had felt some level of desire for closeness with Nyota, he had never actually been physically aroused by their interactions. He assumed this was due to a Vulcan trait that kept his body from reacting to physical stimuli instinctively.

That was not the case, they later found. Spock's mental shields were down, his physical inhibitions purposefully lowered and yet no matter the type of caress Nyota administered, Spock's mind and body could not react. Spock deduced, at the time, that because he had not yet reached Pon Farr, it was possible he might be incapable of physical intimacy with Nyota, and told her as much. Before the destruction of Vulcan and the near extinction of his species, the idea of sharing the details of Pon Farr would have been unthinkable. This was no longer the case, as many secrets had been shared in order to preserve what was left of the Vulcan population. The Federation of Planets _needed_ to know how to treat the illnesses of the survivors, many of which were suffering from broken bonds and other previously undisclosed Vulcan ailments.

Nyota had sighed in disappointment but had reassured, "It's okay, Spock. I've waited this long to share this with you," She took his hand, "I can wait longer."

Spock had embraced her, feeling genuine affection at her capacity for understanding, "Thank you, Nyota." He then proceeded to pleasure her in ways that were not arousing for him, but seemed to bring her quite a bit of gratification.

Afterward, they had decided that Spock would make a conscious effort not to prevent his body from reacting to mental and physical stimuli. The hope was that their daily physical interactions would spontaneously cause arousal. The theory was that perhaps since Spock had never _allowed_ the physiological reaction, his body might just need time to adjust to the new liberties the mind was now affording it. Of course, this did not explain Spock's mental aloofness during their attempts at physical intimacy, but again, they theorized that this could also be due to confusion at Spock's inability to instinctually respond. In other words, perhaps Spock was simply distracted by his attempts to analyze his body's non-response.

It was two days before the _Enterprise_ was due to leave spacedock at Starbase 17 when all of their hypotheses regarding Spock's apparent asexuality were proven false to an unexpected and extreme degree. Spock had joined Jim in one of their now regular chess games at the end of their shift. Jim had taken his leave the day after he and Nyota had returned and Spock had expected the Captain to stay off-ship for his allotted three days.

Curiously, however, Jim had been on the starbase a mere five hours before requesting to be beamed back aboard. He had spent the rest of his shore leave time happily, it appeared, aboard the _Enterprise_ partaking in activities in the rec room, swimming in the ship's pool and reading. At least, that is what Kirk told him when he inquired about the Captain's activities during their game.

Spock had pointed out that any of those activities could have been partaken of off-ship to which Kirk responded, "I _just_ got her, Spock." He smiled, affectionately, "And I'm finding that I'm just not ready to leave her for any length of time just yet."

"I see," Spock had said. In truth, he did not see. Jim didn't miss Spock's confusion and his smile was genuine.

"Spock," Jim had chuckled, "I know it sounds ridiculous, so I'm going to tell you something incredibly personal that I hope won't make you think I'm crazy."

"Compared to the circumstances of our initial acquaintance, I find it highly unlikely that anything you could say at present would make me believe you are less than sane," Spock deadpanned.

This caused Jim to chuckle again, which had been Spock's intent. The Vulcan found the sound of Jim's laughter quite agreeable and he appreciated Jim's ability to discern when Spock was in fact attempting to be humorous. Even though Spock had previously derived enjoyment from making his Captain smile, he found it curious that without subduing his physiological responses he was suddenly feeling a flutter in his side where his Vulcan heartbeat had increased by 3.2 percent. Then, Jim leaned forward, commanding his undivided attention.

"The _Enterprise_," Jim breathed with an air of reverence, "It's the first place I've ever actually thought of as home."

At Spock's raised eyebrow, Kirk went on to explain, "I've told you how Iowa felt like a prison, and even though the Academy and San Francisco were far more enjoyable than living in the middle of a corn field," Jim smiled, "it was still just a pit-stop."

He stood suddenly, beckoning Spock to follow him over to the window in the bulk head at the other end of his quarters, "Out here," he said, gesturing to the stars, "onboard the Enterprise, it's…it's home, Spock. This is where I feel I most belong." Jim then turned to face him, "Out here. With the Enterprise. With my crew," Jim brought his hands to Spock's shoulders and squeezed as he spoke his next words, "With _you_, Spock."

They held each other's gaze for several moments in comfortable silence. It was long enough, however, that Spock seemed to be extra-aware of Jim's hands still on his shoulders, Jim's thumbs rubbing unconscious circles into his uniform, searing a scorching pattern into Spock's skin. Suddenly, his body caught up to the situation as he felt, for the first time in his existence a fluttering in his Vulcan testicles. He was immobilized by the sensations as blood began to fill the veins of his penis, causing its length and width to expand, the double ridges flaring most pleasurably. Spock slammed down on his control immediately ordering his body's reaction to recede, and sought to break the moment, "I do not see how one could construe such sentiments as insane, Captain."

It had the desired effect, as Jim seemed to finally come back to himself, dropping his arms and turning back to the window with a smile that spoke of being at peace with one's self and one's circumstances, "No? I'm talking about destiny, Spock. I would have thought a Vulcan would find it illogical. We can't stay aboard the _Enterprise_ forever, after all."

"Of course not, Captain," Spock said and, in a very un-Vulcan moment, was relieved at the sound of his unperturbed voice, as if a storm of questions and uncertainties weren't flying through his conscious mind at that very moment. He continued on in his usual monotone, despite the chaos of his thoughts. "However, you are only twenty-seven years of age. It is illogical to assume that this first five year mission will be your last opportunity at deep space exploration, in command of a vessel. This exact vessel, in fact." Jim had then given him his trademark grin, turned up to full volume, and despite Spock's reinforced control over his bodily reactions, he found his heartbeat increasing yet again and a flutter in his lower abdomen as he followed Jim back to their seats where they resumed their chess game.

When Spock left his captain's quarters, he immediately sought out Lt. Uhura and explained in great detail everything that happened. "So, he had his hands on your shoulders, like this?" They were in Spock's quarters, Nyota trying to help Spock recreate the arousal he had felt in Jim's presence earlier that evening.

"Yes," Spock replied. "He did appear to be aware of his actions, however, his thumbs were also moving..." He showed Nyota exactly what the Captain's thumbs had been doing. She immediately copied the gesture onto Spock's shoulders. Their gazes held, just as he and Jim's had, she was touching him just as Jim had done and yet…nothing.

"Are you controlling?" Nyota asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"I am not," he intoned.

She let out a sigh, and then her eyes seemed to light up with an idea, "Okay, why don't you close your eyes?" Spock obeyed without question; he knew Nyota was already feeling a degree of distress at not yet being able to recreate the circumstances in which Spock had experienced his first arousal. Once he complied, she continued with her instructions, "I want you to think back to that moment. Focus on exactly what was happening when you felt your body start to react. What caused the initial mental stimuli that elicited the response?"

Spock had done precisely as she requested. His eidetic memory brought him back to the window where he and the Captain had been standing. He had been listening to Kirk talk about destiny and home. Then, the Captain had turned to him, smiling…Spock's heart fluttered, and then Jim touched him. Spock was able to analyze each moment each sensation as he played through the memory. He could feel _Jim's_ hands, strong and reassuring, squeezing and his thumbs stroking. Blue eyes looking back at him, full of wonder…of…affection…then, a strange fluttering in his abdomen…yearning…and, _Jim._

"Oh my God," Nyota interrupted his recollection, "it's working!"

Spock looked down at the discernable bulge in his pants, "Indeed."

"Can I?" She asked, indicating her desire to touch, her excitement clearly readable.

Spock raised an eyebrow, curious himself, "If you wish."

Nyota's caresses were not unpleasant; however, Spock could not chase away the feeling of _wrong_ associated with them. It had not been neither thoughts of nor interactions with Nyota that had caused this reaction. In fact, his arousal was already once again diminishing. She seemed to realize this almost immediately, "Spock," she sounded resigned, "I think we need to talk."

"Yes," Spock agreed. He had followed Nyota into her sitting room and took a seat opposite her at the small table near the door.

When their eyes met, Spock could see unshed tears reflecting the artificial lights of the cabin. When she spoke, however, her voice was calm, even. She would have made an excellent Vulcan, he mused. "Spock, I think…I think I understand why physical intimacy has been difficult for us."

Spock also thought he might have a reasonable hypothesis and before she could speak the words and regardless of what Vulcans believed to be illogical, the sentiments flew out before he could stop them, "I am sorry, Nyota, to have caused you pain. You must understand that I did not know."

Nyota had spoken at the same time, "You're homosexual, aren't you?"

They froze, having both come to the same conclusion. She gave Spock a watery smile that met his own non-smile, "Yes," Spock agreed. "The evidence supports such a hypothesis." Then he paused, suddenly feeling an entirely different set of problems, "It would also appear that I am harboring inappropriate romantic feelings toward the Captain as well." How long had his brain been sending unanswered signals to his body regarding an attraction to his commanding officer? The idea that he could have harbored such an attraction without even knowing it was startling. He was very much in need of deep meditation.  
>"It's okay," Nyota sighed. "I mean, it sucks to be honest. I really…" she smiled through tears that were now making their way down her cheeks. "I really wanted this with you, and I know you tried. I want to be angry, but it really isn't your fault. This is your first time experimenting with your sexuality and even though it didn't turn out the way I had hoped—the way we both were <em>expecting<em>—I'm glad I got to be the one to experience this with you."

Spock did not know what to say to that. Again, he was at a loss: Nyota was an ideal mate in every way. The fact that he was attracted to someone as impulsive, illogical, brash and emotional as James Kirk was…_fascinating_.

"You know, it could be worse," Nyota tried to sooth. "It could be Dr. McCoy."

Spock's eyebrow rose of its own volition, causing Nyota to giggle at his response, "Indeed."

That had been three months ago. Spock had been careful to keep his bodily reactions to Jim's presence under strict control. At the very least, Spock suspected that Jim would probably be highly uncomfortable with the knowledge that his First Officer and friend was not only homosexual, but in fact hopelessly attracted to him as well. Spock was not completely certain, regarding Jim's opinions toward homosexuality, but according to research Spock had performed since his self-discovery, heterosexual males tended to feel uneasy around openly gay men. Spock did not want to make Jim feel uncomfortable in his presence. He enjoyed their easy camaraderie, conversations and unspoken competitiveness. If there was anything Spock _was_ certain about, it was that Jim was heterosexual; he had observed that within the first five minutes of his investigation into one Cadet Kirk after a fateful Kobiyashi Maru test. Spock enjoyed his friendship with Jim too much to risk it by sharing this part of himself openly with his Captain…_his_ _friend_…or anyone else for that matter. Spock had never really had friends as a child on Vulcan, instead he had been a pariah among his peers—the half-breed, flawed reproduction of his traitorous Vulcan father and his emotionally crippled human mother. No, Spock would not risk his most valuable relationship for his new found sexuality.

That had been three months ago. At the moment, here in the deserted greenhouse, Spock's eidetic memory was producing the image of Jim's huge smile after winning tonight's chess game while Spock's hands continued to busy themselves potting soil. There had been several samples of plant life retrieved during an exploratory mission to Vendigo XII, a class M planet the _Enterprise_ had been assigned to investigate for colonization. He was currently preparing a pot to hold one such sample of plant life—which was similar in appearance to Terran cacti—for analysis tomorrow. He only had thirty-five more samples to pot in preparation for tomorrow's tests, where all 437 species would be thoroughly investigated to determine toxicity, edibility, usable properties and so forth. Tomorrow's lab activities promised to be no less than fascinating. Spock was looking forward to relaying the results to the Captain, as Jim had fallen in love with the planet immediately upon beaming down.

Spock was placing the freshly potted plant onto the testing platform with the other 401 samples when it happened. A large crash sounded from Spock's left side before a spray of glass assaulted his face. He could feel each individual impact of shards as they cut into his exposed neck, jaw, cheek, brow and forehead. Putting the pain aside, Spock immediately began looking around the room for an explanation of the sudden disturbance. The lab still appeared to be empty however the monitor to his left was completely destroyed, an empty hole in the center revealed the electronics behind the screen, while cracks splayed outward toward the corners of the display bezel. Upon closer investigation, Spock detected what appeared to be a stone recovered from the planet for geological analysis lying amongst the debris. _Curious, _he thought. Geological samples were not kept in the greenhouse. Carefully picking it up he turned it over to get a closer look. Spock had not been startled by the incident. Logically speaking, lab accidents were a common occurrence; however, what Spock found on the stone did indeed incite a brief, but undeniable emotional response: shock, followed quickly by unease.

The hairs on the back of Spock's neck began to prickle to attention and swallowing became difficult as a lump of trepidation began to rise in his throat. Lasered into the rock's surface were the words:

_**you don't belong here, green-blooded freak**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Captain Kirk to Commander Spock," Jim was trying to summon Spock for a game of chess. His Vulcan First Officer had been burying himself in the labs lately, between all the geological, plant and water samples they had collected from Vendigo XII three days ago. At current, they were still in orbit around the planet. Starfleet wanted all the analyses to be complete before they broke orbit and headed toward their next assignment—whatever that might be.

"Spock here," the near instant reply made Jim smile. _Ah, Spock,_ Jim thought. The Vulcan had no idea how sexy Jim found his science voice. He could tell, just from those two words, that whatever Spock was doing down in science lab number _whatever_—he was thoroughly engrossed. Still, everyone needed R&R time and Jim was going to make sure that Spock didn't over-work himself, arguments in favor of Vulcan stamina notwithstanding.

"Spock, I need you to report to my quarters within the next fifteen minutes," Jim put on his Captain voice. "I want to discuss our recent findings on Vendigo XII." _Over a game a chess and preferably dinner alone in my quarters; Just the two of us, so I can just…__**look**__ at you…without interference. _

"Yes, Captain," Spock pressed the button to end transmission and placed the vial holding the purple-tinted water, retrieved from the planet's northern-most oceanic body back into its designated test tray.

"Ensign Masters," Spock summoned the marine biologist to his station. "I need to you file these results with the others and begin comparison testing between the department's readings." He handed the slim data chip to the ensign.

"Yes, sir," the ensign complied, taking the chip and proceeding toward the console across from the Commander's station.

Spock then powered off his work console and made his way through the lab and toward the turbo lift. He had been trying to avoid seeing Jim in person for the past 60.5 hours. Some of the cuts from the incident in Science Lab 35 were still healing. Before cleaning up the debris of the broken computer and then replacing it with another monitor from storage, Spock had investigated his wounds in the lab's head. It appeared that several pieces of the glass had managed to lodge themselves so deeply within the muscle tissue of his face, that even the on-hand dermal regenerator, located in the lab's first aid kit, was not able to completely heal some of the abrasions.

There were still a few visible marks just under his bangs and behind his ears that could be seen if one were looking closely enough. While no one had commented upon or visibly reacted as though they had noticed so far, Jim was always very observant and Spock did not want to be questioned upon their origin, as the incident was still an unsolved mystery. After reading the message inscribed upon the rock, Spock had decided that while such a sentiment was indeed common among many humans, especially after Nero's attack upon so many innocent, but outward violence was not. It had been widely known and accepted that Vulcans and Romulans shared a common ancestry; however, conflicts with the Romulans had always been more of a threat than a reality in more recent history. Actually being party to what _could_ _be_ between the Federation and the Romulan empire—being a witness to the level of brutality Nero had inflicted—made many other members of the Federation cautious of Vulcans, if not _fearful_ of what might be lurking beneath the logic of their race. Vulcan history was full of savagery after all, and some believed that the destruction of their home planet along with nearly 6 billion members of their society could be the undoing of those remaining.

Since many of the survivors were living between the new colony and Earth, making frequent trips between the two as transports of materials and personnel were on-going in the recovery efforts, humans were among the most suspicious. Somehow, over the past almost two years, that suspicion and uneasiness had evolved into resentment among some Terrans. Still, at least to Spock's knowledge, public displays of vitriol and actions of violence against Vulcans had yet to actually manifest. That is, until 2.5 days ago, when Spock himself had found himself the victim of violent harassment. Fortunately, he had not been so seriously injured that he needed to report to sickbay. Instead, believing that the perpetrator could be mentally unstable and willing to target other members of the ship as well, Spock had decided to report the incident to the Chief of Security, LieutenantGiotto.

His intentions of reporting the incident and suggesting the security recording from the lab be investigated had come to an abrupt halt, however, when he entered Giotto's unusually busy office. All security hands were responding to a class 3 computer attack upon the Enterprise's main computer system. Giotto had been curt when he asked what Spock wanted. The Vulcan chose not to reprimand the officer for his blatant discourtesy toward a superior officer in light of the current situation. It would be illogical to waste time discussing decorum when not only was Spock's attacker still at large, but the computer system of the ship was under such a malicious attack.

Instead, he informed Giotto that there had been an incident in Science Lab 35 which would require his immediate attention once the attack on the main computer had been mitigated and his current investigation complete. Giotto gave him a clipped, "Yes, sir," before turning away to receive a report from security's head computer defense analysts. On his way out the door, Spock had not missed the Lieutenant's muttered annoyance, _"What the hell does that green-blooded bastard need me for? Why can't he take care of his own fucking department? I've got enough shit to deal with down here."_

Spock had not approached Giotto again nor had he sought the assistance of anyone else regarding solving the mystery of his attacker. The use of Giotto's slur had been too startlingly close to that used by the perpetrator and as such, Spock found it hard to follow protocol up the chain of the command. How many other crewmembers and fellow officers on board the _Enterprise_ held similar sentiments to those expressed by his attacker? Spock did not necessarily suspect Giotto as his assailant as the Lieutenant had clearly been working vigorously on determining the cause for the computer system's breech.

Also, the fact that the security cameras located in Lab 35, 37, 40 and 52 as well as the cameras located on deck 5, 7, 8 and Engineering were deleted as a result of the computer breech, led Spock to believe that there was a 74.6 percent likelihood that the two events were related. So while he may not suspect Giotto as the perpetrator, it was clear that the Chief of Security held _some_ form of resentment or dislike toward Spock, if his comments were any indication. Furthermore, since the Lieutenant obviously had not meant Spock to overhear his sentiments, his only logical conclusion was that, at the very least, he could not completely trust Giotto either.

Spock had been led to believe that the psychological evaluations administered by Starfleet were designed to filter through cadets in order determine those with inclinations toward xenophobia, among other things, and have them be excluded from admittance into the fleet. In light of recent events, Spock now postulated that this test either had flaws, or the opinions of his colleagues had changed since their last evaluations, which were administered to every cadet, officer and Ambassador three weeks after the Narada Crisis. If Starfleet had loosened the standards in order to retain and increase the numbers of the fleet, then how was Spock to know whom he could trust?

He had obviously thought of telling Jim, more than once. Although there existed logical reasons to inform the Captain, such as the fact that Jim was his friend, Jim was clearly not xenophobic, Jim would want to know if any of his crewmembers were experiencing duress—there were also several logical reasons _not_ to inform the Captain.

For instance, Jim's captaincy was still under close scrutiny of the Admiralty. If Spock reported the incident to Jim, the Captainwould make an official report and launch a probe for investigation. Spock reasoned that this could potentially give those in the admiralty that had petitioned Jim's promotion from Cadet to Captain, some foundation for argument that Kirk was an inefficient leader, not having detected and curbed such attitudes among his crew.

Perhaps the most important and logical reason not to inform Jim was that Spock did not want to put Jim in danger. If Spock's attacker began to see Kirk as a threat, he could begin targeting the Captainas well. Spock was not willing to allow this possibility to see fruition, period. No, Jim's safety must not be risked. Spock ignored the tick in the back of his mind that whispered that the most important reason for not reporting the incident to Jim was that he was fearful of his friend's reaction. What if Jim chose to do nothing, as Giotto had done? What if Jim valued his captaincy more than he valued Spock's safety? _"…Out here…_ _onboard the Enterprise, it's…it's home, Spock. This is where I feel I most belong."_ His captain's words echoed through his memory. No, even if Jim would be willing to launch a probe for investigation, Spock could not allow his friend to risk his newfound happiness. Besides, Spock did possess the authority to handle the situation himself. According to regulation 2254 section 3, that _the First Officer of any Starfleet vessel has the authority to investigate, publicly or privately, any security threats involving the crew of the assigned vessel such as, but not limited to, mutinous groups or organizations that threaten the command or operations of the vessel, interpersonal disputes between members of any department (s) and department heads, and disputes between visiting parties aboard the vessel and one or more crewmembers. _What Spock needed was more data.

So, all he could do at the moment, was wait. Perhaps his attacker would not risk his career with another incident. Even as he thought it, he knew this to be unlikely. Typically those motivated enough by xenophobic beliefs to act upon them, only found relief in inflicting harm upon the object of their malice. Yes, it would likely only be a matter of time. In the interim, however, Spock had already put in place several mechanisms which would allow him the ability to gather more data when the next attack did occur. It was with this final thought that he found himself buzzing for entrance outside of Jim's quarters.

"Come," Jim replied instinctually upon hearing his door buzz, just 8 minutes after summoning his First Officer.

Upon entering Jim's quarters, Spock immediately noticed the chess board assembled on Jim's desk and the scent of vegetarian lasagna coming from the dining area. He raised an eyebrow in question. _Reports, indeed_, he thought with amusement. It appeared the Captain had not been entirely honest regarding his reasons for having Spock report. "I was unaware that chess and dinner were prerequisites to the delivery of my report, Captain."

Jim could feel his face beginning to heat and had it not been for the teasing gleam in Spock's eyes, his heart and all his good intentions may have plummeted to his stomach at Spock's reproach. As it was, however, Jim allowed his smile to meet his eyes, "I'd never _require_ you to suffer my company outside of duty, Spock," he baited. "What you choose to do in the face of homemade lasagna and 'intellectually stimulating' activities is entirely your own affair."

Spock could feel his lips twitching at Jim's turning of Spock's own words against him. Why had he been avoiding this particular human, again? "Assuming the lasagna is palatable; I shall endeavor to, 'grin and bear it,' as you humans say." Jim's eyes danced at his reply as he pulled out a chair from the table in what the Captain often referred to as his 'man cave'. Spock did not see how a five foot by three foot expanse of floor bordered by two sides of wall could constitute as a cave of any kind, but he never felt inclined to ask Jim for clarification all the same.

"So," Jim started once he had served Spock his dinner and a glass of Altair water, "Tell me what the science geeks have been up to down there." Jim loved referring to Spock's department members as anything from science geeks to mutants, affectionately of course, because he lived for Spock's condescending eyebrow raise the way a pothead lived for Munchies and 20th century psychedelic rock.

Spock didn't disappoint, as he began to explain, his left eyebrow in place just below his hairline, exactly what the various research on the specimens retrieved from the planet below had yielded. Jim half-listened as he was finally able to sit and just enjoy the man across from him—his posture, his voice, his less than austere Vulcan face. Jim always marveled at just how much softer Spock's facial features were compared to that of a full-blooded Vulcan. Jim knew that this was where Spock's human genes were most displayed, second only to those beautiful, wholly human eyes.

When they had first met, Jim had only slightly less than hated the Vulcan, but they had come a long way since the Kobiyashi Maru and Spock dumping Jim on Delta Vega. Jim actually laughed about it now, when he thought about Spock nerve-pinching him into silence. He's pretty sure there have been at least a dozen times since they started the mission that his First Officer has been close to repeating that action just to shut his Captain's colorful mouth. It hadn't been easy, getting from awkward allegiance to best damn team in Starfleet, but they had managed. What's more, they taken it beyond being a cohesive command team and actually built a solid friendship.

It hadn't taken long for Jim to realize that Spock was more than the composed Vulcan representation of hard logic he tried to project. One of their first assignments had been to ferry supplies to the Vafer-Tor. The Vulcans were ready to start construction on what would be the new Science Academy. Already, they had built medical facilities, residencies and grocers. They were making swift progress and Jim knew that while it might take time to reach their population and point of cultural normalcy, the Vulcans were well on their way to a full recovery. The _Enterprise's_ sciences team had been assigned the task of running diagnostics on the adaptability of Vulcan-origin plants in this slightly cooler climate. Jim will never forget the look in Spock's eyes when they landed on something completely non-Vulcan in nature, but that was thriving all the same. They were roses, red and plentiful, lining the entire back wall of the garden. Spock's eyes had never looked more…full. "My mother…" he had started to say, but then realized who he was talking to and about what, and promptly snapped his mouth shut.

If ever there were a moment that Jim could describe as the turning point in their relationship from colleagues to friends, this was it. He hadn't been about to let Spock leave it at that. If his First's reaction to roses on the back wall of a garden on what was supposed to be his people's new home was powerful enough to almost make him open up to Jim about his mother, then Spock needed a friend right then, and Jim was determined to be one. "Did your mother like roses," Jim inquired, quietly, his manner and tone nothing but respectful and inviting.

Spock had hesitated for the briefest of moments before coming to a conclusion and meeting Kirk's gaze. "They were her favorite," his voice was little more than a whisper. "She had a greenhouse at our family home on Vulcan. She grew them and used to place them in vases all over the house."

"Sounds like she had quite the green thumb, being able to grow terran plants on Vulcan. Roses especially, are pretty temperamental," Jim smiled, having edged just the barest of inches closer.

"I do not recall ever seeing her fingers in a state of green tint, however, she was quite the talented gardener," Spock intoned. For a minute, Jim was beside himself. Had Spock made a joke? Yes, he had. What's more—Spock made a joke while talking about his mother, whom he had obviously loved and now missed very much.

Jim knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn't care. Spock really was going to be okay. He wished he could say the same for some of the other Vulcans that had lost loved ones, but he was glad to know that Spock was really, truly recovering. Better than that, Spock's eyes were smiling back at him. Jim clapped his hand on Spock's shoulder and squeezed, leaning in, "Seems to me she was also a talented mother, if you're anything to judge her by." There was a pause where they just stared at one another before Jim lowered his hand to Spock's forearm, squeezed again and then let go, "C'mon, let's go grab some of that weird Vulcan cactus salad."

It had been two nights later that Jim had challenged Spock to their first chess match. He knew Spock was a Grand Master, but even though Jim hadn't been formally tested in a competition, and he knew Spock agreed to that first challenge only to be courteous. What his First Officer didn't know, what that Jim had beaten the programs on the ship's computer several times—programs designed by none other than the Grand Master himself. So, it was nothing short of delicious when he defeated Spock that first time, and of course, the Vulcan was hooked after that. Regular chess matches became a part of their post-shift routine.

Which was why Jim had been perplexed over the last few days when Spock had failed to show. He knew his First had been busy with all the new samples taken from Vendigo's surface, but they'd been busy in the same context in the past and that hadn't stopped Spock from joining him for chess and the occasional dinner. He didn't want to sound like a broken-hearted teenage girl, but he'd put forth a lot of effort into building their friendship and…hell, who was he kidding? Yes, he was disappointed because he expected Spock's presence, okay? He _needed_ it, _craved it_ sometimes even. Over the past year and a half Jim had been nurturing their friendship, yes, but that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Spock was loyal, brilliant and had the best kind of dry sense of humor. He was unfailingly principled and compassionate. Spock was firm in his beliefs and yet he listened to Jim's cockamaney solutions to various problems or unorthodox approaches to different missions and more than that—he went along with them more often than not despite his own calculations of improbability. He had faith in his Captain, in Jim. It wasn't just that though…no, Spock was _special._ Secretly, Jim was happy that no one else seemed to be interested in monopolizing Spock's friendship, because he was greedy and he didn't _want_ to share Spock. Jim liked that he could read those Vulcan non-expressions as if they were ink on paper. One and half years into knowing the being sitting before him and Jim was hopelessy, unrepentantly in love with Spock. He loved him so much his chest hurt and nose tingled from holding it inside, tapping it down, pushing it aside, because no way…now way would he endanger his friendship or working relationship with his straight as an arrow First Officer all because he was so selfish he couldn't be happy with what he already had.

Spock brought his attention back to the present, "In short, Captain," Spock placed his fork down beside his now empty plate, "Pending only two or three more marine tests, we should be able to report this planet as acceptable for colonization."

Jim's eyes lit up at the news, "That's great!"

"Indeed," Spock nodded. "I realize you were hoping to return for shore leave at some point."

Kirk smiled at Spock's comment, remembering his exact words from their initial beam down to the surface, _"Bones, would you look at this place? All we need are a couple of drinks and a few lounge chairs and we'd be set for vacation!" _He chuckled at the memory, "Yeah, well, I meant it. The second it's feasible, we're beaming down those chairs and a couple of bottles of—" he smiled and shrugged, "Well, you get the point."

"Yes," Spock lips quirked slightly and Jim took a moment to take in the expression, pushed down an infatuated sigh, and then moved to clear the table. "You can go ahead and make your first move on the board while I clean up a bit."

"If you wish," Spock replied, getting up. He bent forward as he did so, and that's when Jim saw them. In the usually smooth expanse of skin between Spock's ear and his hair, were what appeared to be several, partly-healed lacerations.

Jim's reaction was nearly instantaneous. In less than three steps, he had crossed the distance between them, placed two hands on either side of Spock's face and turned the Vulcan's head to get a better look, "What the hell happened, Spock?"

For a moment, Spock was completely frozen. As quick as Jim had reacted to seeing Spock's injuries, the half-Vulcan's body was reacting to Jim's unexpected touch. Even as his heart beat increased by an astounding 9.567 percent, Spock replied with his prepared response, "There was a minor compromise in the equipment I was using in Science Lab 35 two point seven days ago while I was preparing various specimens of plants for testing," Spock's lack of inflection was worthy of applause. For, at the moment, Jim's proximity was fairly overwhelming—his touch, his scent, the feel of his breath as it ghosted across skin and hair was intoxicating.

In that moment, Spock wanted nothing more than to allow his body to respond. He wanted to feel the fluttering in his testicles he now knew would occur just before his penis would expand. He wanted to pull Jim into his arms and touch him the way Nyota had wanted to touch Spock. Sweet Son of Surak, how had she managed to deal with this level of arousal without acting? Again, Spock is struck with the thought that perhaps Nyota would have made a great Vulcan. This was not merely illogical, it was torturous. Jim touching him, his fingers running softly over Spock's injury, just barely grazing the tips of his pointed ears, certainly by mistake, but one could pretend it was intentional, could they not?

"Is this the only place you were hurt?" Jim's steady, impersonal inquiry brought Spock back from the brink of insanity.

"The original injury was far more expansive, as the majority of the left side of my face was sprayed with broken glass. However, the lab's dermal regenerator was most useful in healing the majority of my facial tissue," he reported, matter-of-factly. In far more control than he was moments just moments ago, Spock turned his gaze to meet Jim's. When Jim's hand moved from his left ear to his hairline, Spock was prepared for the contact to his forehead.

Jim sucked in a breath as he examined the green scratch that had been hidden under Spock's bangs, "Why didn't you report the incident? I didn't see it come across my desk," Jim questioned, his thumb tracing gently over the scratch. "Spock, I'm not a doctor, but I know from experience that these had to be pretty deep if the dermal regenerator couldn't completely heal them. Exactly what kind of malfunc—"

"Jim," Spock had interrupted, not liking where this train of questioning was headed. He knew if didn't distract Jim now, he would eventually be party to a string of questions that would make the truth unavoidable. Gently, and ignoring how good it felt to do so, Spock removed Jim's hands from his face, "It was not life-threatening and I hardly saw fit to awaken Dr. McCoy at Oh-three hundred hours to do what amounted to placing a band-aid upon a paper cut." Reluctantly, he released Jim's hands, and stepped back slightly, just enough to give him the space he so desperately needed in order to remain in control, "Equipment malfunctions are not uncommon, especially in the science labs where they undergo daily usage and wear," Spock paused. It was not a lie, and Jim need not know that the commonality of equipment malfunctions had exactly nothing to do with what had actually occurred.

Jim took a deep breath at Spock's explanation. Okay, so his First Officer hadn't been seriously injured, that was a relief. Still, why hadn't Spock reported the malfunction? It wasn't like his First to break protocol—ever—not even in the case of something mundane, which is what Spock was trying to tell Jim this malfunction had been. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something Spock was leaving out. Jim shook his head, he was suddenly exhausted.

Once again, his tactile nature had come back to bite him in the ass. He shouldn't have touched Spock. He knew it had been a mistake the second his fingers had come into contact with soft, inhumanly warm skin. Once initial contact had been made, Jim knew Spock was going to have to force his roaming hands away. He had tried to keep his touch as impersonal and clinical as possible, but he knew Spock had felt it when he had allowed the side of his hand to graze Spock's pointed ear. Ghod, how many nights had Jim dreamed of touching those ears with his hands and lips? His tongue stuck in his throat as the image of drawing the tip into his mouth and sucking blurred his vision for one intense, insane moment. It was a damned good thing Spock had pulled his hands away when he did, otherwise, Jim might have found himself being pushed out the nearest airlock by a highly offended Vulcan.

Somehow, Jim had managed to make it across the room and to the chess board without actually being aware of his surroundings, so caught up was he in the lingering feel of Spock's skin and hair under his fingertips. "So, just a minor malfunction, then?" He finally spoke as they took their seats.

"I believe that is what I said," Spock confirmed, making his first move.

Jim let out a sigh, "Alright. So long as no one was hurt and the faulty machinery has been removed, I won't make you report to sickbay for an examination." He paused and put on his Captain's voice, "But, Spock, next time there's an incident that causes _any_ kind of injury, regardless of how small or inconsequential, I want you to report it to me immediately. That's protocol, regardless of whether or not you find it logical, alright?"

"Yes, Captain," Spock replied and they turned their attention to their game, both of them only half-focused on the pieces. Jim was still pondering the reasons for Spock's failure to follow protocol as well as the meaning behind Spock's avoidance for the last "two point seven" days, as Spock had pointed out. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but Jim couldn't shake the feeling that something else was going on. Well, whatever it was he was damn sure going to find out.

_Personal Log, Stardate 2256.50. _

_It's been three days since I gifted the Commander with a clue. He'll leave this ship if he knows what's fucking good for him. It makes me sick, taking orders from some half-breed that thinks he's better than the rest of us just because he's got some Vulcan DNA floating around in that green blood of his. Where does he get off… reprimanding __**me**__? We'll see who's out of line, Mr. Spock, when I string you up by your internal ball sack. It's fucking disgusting…how quick they are to jump to your orders. _

_Why can't they see it? Don't they understand that green-bloods like you are dangerous? I'm only trying to watch out for my species here, while they're all busy ferrying supplies and doing nothing but give away OUR valuable resources to some fucking desert planet! You species isn't special, Spock. You aren't special and you don't get to tell __**me**__ how to handle my assignments. You aren't better than me. You couldn't do my job better than me. I bet you think you could, but you'll see. I make you see just how fallible you really are. I'll make everyone see just how capable of bleeding the precious half-breed is._

A/N: For those of you curious about the challenge that this fic is in answer to, I've pasted it below. Please do continue to review as it is great motivation. Also, I appreciate it when readers are able to point out typos and other errors so that I may keep my writing as clean as possible.

Challenge:

ST: XI Abrams fic based on the TOS episode "Balance of Terror."

Spock is no stranger to being the unwilling subject of racism and xenophobia because of his childhood on Vulcan. So when a fellow crewmember begins flaunting his bigotry in increasingly violent encounters with the Commander, Spock intends to follow Starfleet protocol an resolve the conflict as professionally and quietly as possible. However, when he contacts the head of security, he finds that Chief Giotto shares the same xenphobic tendencies he's trying to dissipate.

Bonus

Spock withdraws from Kirk as the encounters escalate, which leads to angst!Kirk because he's worked so hard to build their friendship after the Narada engagement.

Spock does his best to prevent Kirk from getting involved because 1) he refuses to put his captain in a position that could potentially threaten his command, and 2) he's always been secretly terrified of discovering the same sickening hatred in those he holds close to his heart.

Kirk is his usual refuse-to-lose self and snoops until he discovers what's happening.

Kirk catches Spock in a lie (perhaps about suspicious injuries he has) and Spock reveals the depth of his fear and caring for Jim, which naturally leads to drawn out and delicious space sex and bonding.

Bigger bonus if both Kirk and Spock talk about how stupid in love they are and spend a few hours completely wrapped up in each other while they plan how to handle the racism on board.

Bully beat downs appreciated (but only if they are 'Fleet approved).

Handle Spock's lack of relationship with Nyota however works best, but please no Uhura bashing. I love that woman.


	3. Chapter 3

"Giotto, report," Jim ordered as he entered the main office of security operations aboard the _Enterprise. _"What do we know about our recent system compromise?"

Giotto let out a calming breath, trying to reign in his frustration with the situation, "Not much, sir." His voice was defeated, "They were in and out within a matter of minutes. You saw the report?"

"Yeah, I did," Jim dropped into the chair in front of Giotto's desk. "At ease, Lieutenant. Have a seat."

Giotto nodded and slumped down into his chair, his posture a reflection of his current depression, "I just don't get it, Captain." He picked up his PADD and scrolled to the fourth page of the report, titled _Comprised Information List_ and then handed it to Kirk, a man whose opinion he had come to value immensely. Regardless of their rough beginning, he and Kirk had somehow managed to find a common ground. The moniker 'Cupcake' was not so much used or perceived as antagonizing these days. Instead, Giotto liked his nickname; it reminded him of simpler times and just how far the whole crew had come since their first run together as little more than cadets.

Kirk's voice, reading the list aloud, brought Giotto back from his minute reverie, "Security cameras in Engineering…decks 5, 7 and 8…Science Labs 35, 37, 40 and 52," Jim shook his head in consternation, "That's _it_? No attempts on classified information or ships logs? Just _cameras_?"

Giotto lifted his hands in an expression that said _Fuck if I know_, "That's it. There were minor discrepancies found in the transporter logs, but that's the only other anomaly that occurred at the time of the breech. We can't even be sure if they were related events. The signatures are completely different."

"What kind of discrepancies?" Jim was intrigued. "Did somebody try to move something off or onto the _Enterprise_?"

"No, nothing like that," Giotto assured. "The ship's sensors were functioning. It would have detected something new coming aboard and recorded it to the logs. Likewise, if any cargo were beamed off ship."

"Yet, obviously the transporters in…" Jim scrolled trough, "Room 8, were used for something unauthorized at the very least. That's too damn convenient for me to rule it out as unrelated just because the signatures don't match. The cameras on the same deck were deleted?"

"That's right," Giotto sighed. "Like I said, something's wrong, but _fuck_ if I know what it is!"

Jim chuckled at Giotto's unprofessional outburst and the red heat that rose to the man's cheeks afterward. They'd come such a long way since that bar in Iowa, "Now, now, Cupcake, don't get your wrapper in a bunch."

"Ha-ha," but the security chief was chuckling. He hadn't meant to swear, but this entire situation was frustrating and his Italian blood was boiling.

Kirk leaned forward, obviously ready to tackle the situation, "Okay, so this is what we got." The Captain stood and began pacing, "The perpetrator disabled cameras, enough so that it _almost_ seems random, except the same transporter that shows signs of usage during the attack is on one of the same floors where the cameras weren't functioning." He paused and took a breath, "We know that the terminal was accessed from a remote utility, but not something registered with the main computer's intranet. Ship's sensors were fully functional at the time—still are—and we are not sharing space with any hostiles, correct?"

"Yes," the Lieutenant nodded.

"So, since we know nothing was beamed on or off ship could the person responsible for the breech have been using the transporter to move something _around_ the ship?"

Giotto's head shot up, "I hadn't thought of that."

It was a straw, but Kirk grasped at it, "Were there any reports of misplaced items or missing cargo on the same day as the breech or in the days afterward?" It seemed _plausible _that the perpetrator might have been using the transporter to steal something, but what…and why such a select few cameras, why not bring them all down? Furthermore, what could possibly be of such value for them to risk their career? It didn't make sense, but then what else could they have been using the transporter for? Drug dealing? Seems like a lot of trouble to go through to hand off illicit drugs. No, something was missing.

"No," Giotto was shaking his head, "No one reported anything out of the ordin—" Giotto's eyes lit up. Oh, _fuck._ Kirk was going to chew his ass for this one, especially if the rumors were true, "the _Commander._" Giotto had barely resisted the urge to bang his head against the desk.

"Mr. Spock?" Jim immediately rounded on the security chief, "What about him? Did he report something?"

Giotto cringed, "He _tried_ to?" Swallowing around the lump of regret that had lodged itself thoroughly inside his throat at the death glare Kirk was now shooting in his direction. "He had stopped by right when we were in the middle of trying to secure the classified information and trace the source of the compromise."

"What happened?" Kirk's tone was dead serious.

"He didn't say, really." Giotto let out a breath of self-deprecation, "I didn't really give him a chance to. I was so busy in here being pissed that some douche bag was slipping passed _my_ department on _my watch _that I was kind of…short with him."

"Do you remember anything of what he said to you?" Jim's voice was urgent. Spock hadn't told him that he'd been to security.

"He said he needed me to look into some kind of incident in Lab…uh…" _Shit_, he never could remember the actual lab that held the greenhouse. To all the guys in security, it was just the place where all the pretty flowers went, "The greenhouse, I think."

"The greenhouse?" Jim's internal red alert was starting blare loudly in his ears.

"Yeah, he came down here around…I don't know it was probably 0400 by the time the Comp Sci guys started making their first reports," He sighed. "I figured it was just a couple of his department members getting agitated at one another. You know how the nerds down there can get—slapping hands at one another over exponents."

Jim actually chuckled at this. _So true…_ "He mentioned to me that there was some kind equipment malfunction that night, but nothing worth reporting to sickbay over, let alone security."

"Seems odd," Giotto thought back to the beginning of their mission and all the times Spock had lectured the Captain in front of everyone about protocol. "He never filed a report?"

"No," Jim sat back down and picked up the PADD. It was still on page four. Then, something occurred to him, "What lab number is the greenhouse?"

"I can never remember," the Lieutenant replied, even as his hands moved across his console to look it up. When his eyes met the Captain'sthey conveyed his confusion. "Thirty-five."

"Science Lab thirty-five?" Jim frowned at the list. _Equipment malfunction, my ass. Vulcans can't lie my __**fucking **__ass! _"Well, I think it's time you had that follow up with the First Officer, _Lieutenant._"

"Yeah…" Giotto's confusion was a mirror of Kirk's own bewilderment. _Dammit, Spock, what the Hell aren't you telling me?_

"Hold still, damn it," Dr. Leonard McCoy was trying to apply salve to one of Spock's lackeys' hands. Apparently an experiment had gone south and there were over 12 ensigns in sick bay receiving treatments for burns and other minor injuries. "What the hell were you fools doing down there, anyway, huh? Trying to start a bonfire in geological sciences? Didn't your mother ever tell you dummies not play with matches?"

"Doctor," _there was no mistaking _that_ monotone anywhere_, thought McCoy, as Spock appeared from the other side of the curtain. "Ensign Trask and his colleagues were testing the flammability of several minerals recovered from the most recent excavation of Vendigo XII."

Spock nodded to the ensign, taking in his bandaged hands, before turning back to the doctor, "That hardly qualifies as 'playing with matches.'"

Bones was going to make a comment, telling Spock exactly where he'd like to enflame the Vulcan, but was interrupted by the ensign he was currently running a final diagnostic on, "Permission to speak freely, _Commander Spock_?"

Spock lifted an eyebrow as he turned his attention back to his subordinate, "Permission granted."

Ensign Trask's smiled erupted, "You should have _seen it!" _He cringed slightly when he shook his hands, the slight vibrations quite painful against the bandage, "I mean, we scanned for every known flammable substance and gas, but nothing came up, then Matthews comes over with the mini-torch, because we have to run the tests regardless, right?"

He did not wait for Spock's agreement before plowing along immediately, "We weren't expecting anything to happen but then, _BOOM_! The whole place goes up! I mean, it sucks that the 12 of use were in the vicinity, but we were already following precautionary protocol and none of us were hurt too bad but…you realize what this could mean for us?"

"Indeed, the discovery of a new highly flammable substance," Spock intoned.

McCoy groaned in frustration, "What's the big damned deal? What good is it?"

The ensign's excitement immediately came to a halt, his face instantly became crestfallen before his commanding officer jumped, or the Vulcan equivalent, to his defense, "While there may not yet be a known benefit to the flammable substance discovered by Mr. Trask and his team, they will no doubt receive great praise within the scientific community for discovering a new substance. It is through seemingly innocuous discoveries, such as this, that many scientific advancements often originate."

Spock paused and picked up a nearby hypo-spray, "This inoculation, for example, is the result of the combination of substances, many of which when set apart from the others, are quite useless. Together, however, Doctor you are able to cure this man of tetanus. Indeed, this discovery is important."

Spock replaced the hypo, ignoring the Doctor's thoroughly annoying grumbling and turned back to Ensign Trask, "You and your team will receive commendations for your discovery. In the meantime, I hope that you are all able to recover swiftly." And with that, Spock departed. In his wake, however, he left a thoroughly annoyed (and chastised) McCoy as well as a beaming ensign staring after him.

What Spock failed to notice was the observer in the back corner of sickbay, under Christine Chapel's care, staring daggers at the scene that had just taken place before him. _How disgusting. Could Trask be more pathetic? Sucking up to the Commander like his praise and commendations are worth a shit? He's not so high and mighty. But you'll all find that out soon enough._

"Okay, you're all done, sweetie," the chirpy nurse's voice called his attention.

"Yeah thanks," he said before slipping off the bed and heading for the exit. He had places to be and a trigger to plant.

"Ooo-kay," Christine sighed, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bio-bed this morning." The science department was just full of characters. Of course, none more endearing than the leader of the department himself, she thought, watching Spock exit sickbay a scant few minutes after his subordinate. _Now there's an equation I wouldn't mind tackling…..right into bed. _She let out a defeated sigh, _Oh well, it's not meant to be._ If the rumors were true, the ship's two most attractive commanding officers were off limits. With another sigh of resignation, Christine turned back to her med kit. She still had three people she needed to bandage.

Jim was headed to sickbay when the yellow alert began to blare. _What the hell?_ He immediately pressed the nearest wall com, "Kirk to bridge, what the Hell is going on?"

Uhura's voice sounded on the other end, "Unknown, _Captain,_ there's been some kind of electrical accident on deck 3. Apparently it put out enough voltage that the computer perceive it as an internal threat to the hull. Security and sickbay are already reporting."

"Alright, I'm on my way there now," Jim's voice betrayed his peevishness, "Cancel the damn alert." First and explosion in one of the science labs and now an electrical fire on the sickbay deck? What next, flying kangaroos in the cargo bay?

"Aye, sir," Uhura responded, before the alert shut off and the communication was cut.

When Jim arrived on the scene, he wasn't surprised to see that Engineering and security were performing perimeter sweeps with their tricorders. There were scorch marks lining the wall and floor from what looked like a security shield outlet. Electrical surge was an understatement. They were lucky it hadn't started a deck-wide fire. As he rounded the corner to find Giotto, Jim's heart plummeted to his feet. He knew Bones would be on the scene, the CMO always responded personally when sickbay was called to an accident site. However, he had _not_ expected to see Spock, lying on a bio-stretcher, pale and unmoving. "What the HELL happened?" Was the first thing that flew out of his mouth, shocking everyone in the hall into instantaneous silence.

Jim approached the gurney at warp speed, everyone returning to their tasks as they realized they weren't the ones in for a Kirkian ear bruising, as the Captain turned his attention to Bones, "Why wasn't I informed that there were injuries?" Before Bones could reply, and much to the doctor's chagrin, the Captain continued on with his rant, "Is it not the job of the CMO during a ship wide alert to notify the captain when there are injured members of the crew requiring immediate medical attention? And why the Hell isn't he in sickbay—"

"Damn it, Jim, shut up!" Bones finally snapped. "There's a damn good reason I didn't report and if you'd stop freaking out for five goddamned minutes, I'd enlighten you."

Jim swallowed as he looked down at Spock's immobile state. He was pale, his breaths shallow, and his head bleeding through the applied bandage. Worst of all, there was the unmistakable smell of burnt flesh permeating the air around them. _Damn it, Spock, you're supposed to be Superman._

He took several calming breaths in an attempt to temper his reeling emotions. While Jim was trying to regain his Captain composure, Bones began barking orders at his medical team. "Chapel," the doctor called her over, eyeing Jim warily all the while, "he's stable now, get him down to sickbay. I want him in private room 4D." Jim could feel the blood draining from his face, "_he's stable now…"? Spock had been unstable? _He watched mutely as Bones motioned Giotto over to join them, "I want two of your best men watching the Commander's room at all times starting now. I want an escort for Spock to sickbay as well."

"You got it," Giotto's face was a hard mask, and his voice was eerily somber. Quite frankly, the man looked shaken. Jim pulled his attention back to his CMO while Giotto walked down the corridor, pulling four of his men aside and directing them to follow Spock and the med team to sickbay.

"What's going on, Bones?" Jim was feeling sick with unease, "Why are you asking security to accompany Spock?"

McCoy let out rough sigh and scrubbed his hand over his face. _Ghods_, Jim was not going to take this well. Seconds after the yellow alert had sounded, Bones was being hailed by security for a medical emergency. When he'd arrived on the scene, Spock hadn't been breathing. He hadn't even had a pulse. It wasn't until after he'd revived the Vulcan that McCoy had seen the blood on the front of his shirt. When he lifted the seam, he almost lost his fucking lunch. Burned in, as if by laser, into Spock's abdomen and bleeding green, were the words:

Half Breed

"Jim," McCoy said, his voice lowered, hands now shaking with receding adrenaline. "This wasn't no goddamned electrical malfunction. Spock's injuries weren't an accident."

Jim sat in the chair adjacent to Spock's bed, his head in his hands. It was well past 0100 hours and his eyes were burning, but Jim just couldn't leave. Jim had almost all the pieces of the puzzle, and was not happy with the picture it was starting to paint. Not only had one of his crewmembers managed to pass through Starfleets psych evals as a xenophobe, but now this bastard was targeting his First Officer. His best friend was laid up in sickbay with a head wound and severe burns to his abdomen. Jim felt his stomach twist into a sick knot. _Half breed._

Jim had seen red once McCoy had ushered him into his office and explained the condition in which Spock had been found. His eyes watered as he listened to the reassuring _beep beep beep_ of Spock's heart monitor. Spock was alive, but for a few minutes…his friend had been…The bastard that did this had left Spock alone to die on the cold hard floor, and for what? For some fucked up perception that aliens…the _Spock_, of all people, were to blame for whatever wrongs this individual obviously thought had befallen him. Jim hated Xenophobes.

Worse yet, was what Jim knew laid underneath that bandage wrapped around Spock's middle. How demented this fucker must be, Jim thought. The second Jim had seen the burned engraving, the pieces started falling into place. He still wasn't sure about what exactly had happened in the greenhouse that night, but he could hazard a good guess. Spock wouldn't have gone to security for something as trivial as an equipment malfunction. After leaving Sickbay, Jim had called Chekov down to investigate the shield panel for irregularities. Four hours later, the boy genius had not only turned up a mini-chip containing a trigger based on the detection of Vulcan life signatures attached to the wiring of the shield, but he was also able to match the hack signature used for the shield's compromise to that used in the transporter room during the original computer breech.

Jim had already filed his report and contacted Admiral Pike regarding the investigation probe he officially launched at 1400 hours. "Jim," Pike had given him the 'I know this sucks, but you gotta keep it together' look, "I'll call in the request for the evaluation results myself. If any of your crew gave up _anything_ that so much as resembles a red flag, you'll have their names on a list by the end of tomorrow."

"Thanks, Chris," Jim sighed. That would at least give them somewhere to start. Whoever they were dealing with, they sure as hell knew their way around the _Enterprise's _electrical and computer systems.

"Don't worry, son," Chris reassured. "I know you. You'll find the little bastard."

Jim nodded, "You bet your ass I will."

"'At a boy. Now, get some sleep," Chris said before cutting the transmission.

Unfortunately, Jim couldn't sleep right now if he wanted to. His brain wouldn't slow down. He needed to know what had really happened in the greenhouse, and the only person who knew that information was unconscious. Bones had said Spock would probably wake up sometime tomorrow around mid-morning, but Jim couldn't bring himself to leave the Vulcan's side. _Damn it,_ _Spock. Why didn't you tell me? _In truth, he wasn't really sure he wanted to know the answer. It hurt to think that Spock didn't trust Jim to keep him safe. Did Spock think Jim would brush him off like Giotto had done?

Jim groaned…_Giotto, you idiot._ The security chief had approached Jim in sickbay not even a scant hour ago. The Lieutenant had confessed that he may have had an idea as to why Spock had not bothered to file a report about whatever he had been trying to tell Giotto five days ago.

"What did you do?" Jim asked accusingly.

Giotto blushed guiltily, he really looked quite distressed, "I was stressed out over the goddamned ship computer…"

"Yeah, you told me that already," Jim frowned. _C'mon, spit it out already._

"I wasn't thinking and I didn't mean for him to hear me—hell, I didn't really _**mean it**_at all," Giotto's voice took on a note of avid conviction. "I'm not a xenophobe, alright? Hell, I'm dating the Orion gal in Sulu's botany lab."

"I believe you, alright," Jim reassured. "Just, go on."

Giotto seemed to relax slightly, "I said some stupid shit under my breath about how the green-blooded bastard oughta set his department members straight himself."

Jim groaned, long and loudly, "Damn it, Barry!"* It was the first time Jim had used Giotto's first name since the academy and this did not go unnoticed by the security chief.

"Jim, I know, alright?" Giotto hung his head, "I feel like an ass. He probably thinks I'm some king of fucking bigoted shit hole. He hasn't even looked at me since it happened and I didn't put two and two together until now."

Jim looked at his security chief, who was clearly drowning in remorse. He was about to give the man some comforting words, but Giotto went on before Jim could get a word in, "I'm the head of security and it's my job to make sure everyone on this ship is…to make them _FEEL_ safe, Captain." He shook his head, sorrowfully, "Mr. Spock, he…he always seems so self-assured. I mean, he's half-Vulcan for chrissake. I never thought he'd ever be the type to need my help…the one chance I get to repay the guy for all the shit he does for the guys in my department while we're on away missions and I completely fuck it up."

"Barry, look," Jim placed a calming hand the Lieutenant's shoulder.

"No," Giotto shook his head. "I'm the reason he was probably too paranoid to file a report. Damn it, we could have been tracking this asshole days ago if I would have just taken five minutes to listen to Spock."

Jim took a deep breath, "Lieutenant," he paused to meet Giotto's gaze, "I'm not going to lie. I'm pissed that you turned him away and I'm even more pissed at what you said to Spock, however unintentional that might have been." At Giotto's resigned nod of defeat, Jim shook the taller man to regain his attention, "But you're damn good at your job. Things have been crazy around here the past few days and I can understand where that frustration comes from, but you've got to get a handle on your temper. This isn't the first time it's gotten you into trouble," a pause then, "Cupcake."

Giotto let out rueful chuckle, followed by a miserable, "I know."

"I'm not going to formally reprimand you. I know you're not xenophobic and I know you take your job seriously…that you value everyone onboard this ship just like I do," Jim released Giotto's shoulder and gave the order. "I want you to report to Dr. Phillips after your shift tomorrow to discuss options for stress management."

Giotto wasn't about to argue. He thought that was more than fair. After seeing for himself the kind of damage a few short words in the wrong place could do to undermine his position as Chief of Security, he thought it was something he _needed_ to do. "Yes, sir."

"Dismissed." Upon Giotto's exit, Jim had slumped into the chair beside Spock's bed and hadn't moved since. When Spock woke up, they were going to have a long discussion about why it was important to inform one's commanding officer about hate crimes perpetrated against said commanding officer's second in command, damn it. With that final thought, Jim laid his forehead against Spock's forearm, _Ghod, don't you know I'd do anything for you? Can't you see how much I love you? When I find the bastard that did this to you, I'm gonna kick his ass into the next parsec._ It was with those final thoughts that Jim drifted, unwittingly, off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

"Did you hear what happened yesterday?" Ensign Lancaster asked her team in geological science lab 54.

Ensign Tyler Maddox nodded, eyeing his colleagues solemnly, "I heard that when the doctors found him, they had to revive him in the hallway."

"Who would do something like this?" Marionette, an Orion botanist, one commendation away from making Lieutenant, had overheard the conversation on her way into the lab to grab a few soil samples. The ship was no longer in orbit around Vendigo XII as all the final tests had been analyzed and reported to Starfleet as of 1930 hours yesterday. "It gives me the creeps thinking there might be some kind of racial terrorist running around the ship."

Ensign Avery, a redheaded geologist placed a comforting hand on the Orion's shoulder, "Don't worry, Mary, I'm sure the Captain's already on the war path."

"Yeah, _no one_ messes with _Kirk's_ First Officer," Ensign Maddox nodded with a wink that indicated an underlining meaning.

Avery shook her head, "Did you see Captain Kirk's face yesterday when they ran into Sickbay after Mr. Spock?"

"I saw," Lancaster frowned. He and the Captain had actually made eye contact for a millisecond while Kirk and McCoy were headed into the doctor's office. He'd never seen Kirk look more disturbed. "I was in there getting stitches after yesterday's flammability fiasco."

"Me too," Ensign Jonathan Trask spoke up for the first time. "Mr. Spock told me we were all going to get commendations for our discovery. I was still pretty loopy from the pain killers. I was there when the yellow alert went off and Dr. McCoy ran out the door."

"I took lunch with one of the orderlies that responded," Maddox leaned in to mutter quietly, "The sick bastard that did it, managed to program the shield to shoot off a crude phaser ray, that carved 'half-breed' in to Mr. Spock's stomach."

Marionette's complexion went from a deep moss to sea green, "That's what I had heard, but I just…really didn't want to believe it."

"Poor Jim," Avery sighed, "I don't know what I'd do if it were Kyle." Her eyes started watering at the thought of her fiancé being injured like that.

Marionette cocked her head, "What do you mean?"

All eyes were now on the Orion. Maddox's eyebrows were in his hairline, "You mean, you don't know?"

Mary rolled her eyes, her rosy, pouting lips standing out against her verdant skin, "Know _what?_" she asked impatiently.

"About Kirk and Mr. Spock," Ensign Trask replied, in the tone of voice that screamed, 'DUH'. "How they're…_you know_…together."

Mary's eyes went wide, "No _way!_"

Avery nodded her head in dissention, "Yes, way. I can't believe you haven't noticed it! Everyone knows they're-," she broke off and looked around, to make sure only familiar ears were listening, then she leaned in close to Marionette and continued with a lowered voice, "Everyone knows they're lovers. Have been for the better part of a year. All those 'chess games' in the Captain's quarters. Everyone knows Mr. Spock and Lt. Uhura called it quits because Spock fell in love with the Captain."

"It's so romantic," Lancaster sighed.

Mary knew she was gaping as she looked between the faces of her colleagues, "There is _**no way **_I would have missed _that._"

Lancaster rolled her eyes, "Oh, please, you and the other botanists spend so much time with your heads up the stamens of so many plants you barely have time to notice _anything_ going on around you."

Mary shot her friend a glare, "Smart ass." She then gestured to Trask's bandaged hands, "At least us botantists aren't blowing up our labs playing with matches!"

Trask and Maddox rolled their eyes simultaneously, before Trask argued, "It was NOT matches! Why does everyone keep making _that_ joke?"

"Seriously," Maddox agreed. "It was Matthews, in the test zone, with the mini-torch!"

Avery, Lancaster and Marionette giggled at the boys' defensiveness and Maddox's reference to _Clue_. Then Avery looked around, "How is Matthews, anyway? I haven't seen him since he bolted out of sickbay yesterday."

Maddox shrugged, "He had to have his scalp lasered by Nurse Chapel, but I guess he's fine."

Trask shook his head, "I think he left in a hurry once he caught sight of Spock. He didn't take that dressing down the other day too well, did he?"

Lancaster shook her head, "No, he didn't."

"Okay," Mary sighed, I've got to get back to _my_ lab, but now I have to know. "What did Matthews do to piss off the First Officer?"

"He kept making snide comments to Ensign Teluveh, the Andorian Engineer that was helping us with some of our scans the other day," Avery explained. "He kept looking over her shoulder and asking her stuff like, 'are you sure about that?' and 'make sure you don't overdo this or overdo that.'"

Marionette raised her eyebrows, "Commander Spock overheard?"

"Oh yeah," Maddox nodded. "He's Vulcan—he can hear a pin drop from 50,000 kilometers."

They all chucked fondly, before Lancaster finished the story that had circulated the labs for _days_ after it happened, "Anyway, Mr. Spock came over and told him he should try to pay more attention to his own work. I think his exact words were something like, _'Ensign Matthews, I do believe your time would be more wisely spent reviewing your own work, opposed to that of Ensign Taluveh, as I can clearly see seven distinct errors in your current calculations regarding the chemical composition of this particular mineral.'"_

The group of them erupted into fits of laughter at Lancaster's poor imitation of Spock's voice. "Served him right though," Trask said through chuckles. "Matthews is too competitive. He thinks he has to lead on everything. That's why he was the one with micro-torch yesterday."

"Total control freak," Avery nodded.

Marionette shook her head, "And I thought us plant geeks were bad." The group exchanged a few more pleasantries before heading back to their stations. It had been a busy past couple of weeks and they were glad to be moving away from Vendigo XII and winding back into their usual work flow patterns. Planetary testing was _so_ exhausting.

Jim sat in his command chair on the bridge wondering when the Hell this shift was going to be over. They had warped away from the planet at 0545 this with new orders to rendezvous with the _Pomtemkin_, whose crew would be taking over exploration and surveying the Planet Vendigo XII. _They really need to think of a better name for that rock…_Jim mused. It was a mouthful. They were 18 hours away from the rendezvous point and Kirk was beginning to go stir crazy. He was trying to get through this shift without tearing his hair out in worry over Spock. He checked the chronometer on his chair's arm. It had only been fifteen minutes since his last inquiry to sickbay regarding Spock's status. Mid-morning had already come and gone.

Jim had woken up to a painful thwack of clipboard meeting the back of head, "I told your fool ass to get out of here and get some rest!"

He had groaned at the crick in his neck and the stiffness in his back, not made any better by McCoy's version of a wake-up call, "Damn Bones, I think I may have a concussion."

"I'm sure you wish you did, Romeo," Bones grumbled as he started taking readings from all the equipment hooked up to Spock. "That way you could spend all day in here with your pointy-eared lover."

"Keep it down, wouldya?" Jim grimaced, "I just woke up and not everyone," he gestured to the silhouettes of the guards standing just outside the glass doors of Spock's private room, "needs to know about…you know."

McCoy let out an annoyed huff, "Or, you could just tell the hobgoblin how you feel and at least know one way or the other so you can either move on or live happily ever after."

Jim let out a sigh of longing as he looked at his heart's desire, lying defenselessly on the bed. Even in his sleep, Spock looked somewhat intimidating. "It's not that simple, Bones, and you know it. I could tell him that I love him, but we both know it would probably end with a harassment trial at worst and a transfer request at best."

"Spock wouldn't do that to you," Bones shrugged. "I say, worst case scenario: he asks for a transfer, but he'd never sue you for having feeling for him. It's not like you've ever made and sexual overtures at him or done anything that could possibly be construed as harassing."

"I know, I know," Jim conceded. "But…I don't want to make things awkward between us. He's my best friend-" Jim cut off at Bones indignant glare, "Second to you, of course," he amended behind raised hands, "and he's the best first officer in the fleet. I can't risk fucking either of things up by letting my, as what I'm sure he describe as, overt human emotionalism, influence my actions."

Bones shook his head in defeat, "Fine, don't tell the hobgoblin. Sit in your little Captain's chair and torture yourself with what-ifs and shouda, coulda, wouldas until your heart shrivels up and dies of starvation." The doctor set down his tricorder, and switched one of the IVs, "He'll be waking up in a few hours. I'll comm you and let you know, just don't be calling down here every five goddamned minutes asking me for his status." He turned and faced his friend and Captain, whose eyes were full of worry for the Vulcan under their scrutiny, "Get your ass out of here and take a shower. You've got to be on the bridge in 45 minutes."

Jim nodded solemnly as his eyes fixed on Spock's mid-section, knowing that the skin underneath was fully regenerated, but feeling sick all the same. He couldn't stop the image of the burned slur from racing back to the fore front of his mind and a wave of anger rushed forth anew at the thought. "Who the Hell would do something like this?"

"I don't know Jim," Bones had said. "But I know you're gonna find out. Just don't kill the dumb SOB when you do. I'd hate to answer to whoever it is Komack's got lined up for your chair in case you manage to lose it doing something stupid."

"Point taken," he replied, straightening his shirt. "I'm gonna get ready for shift. Take good care of him, Bones."

Bones snorted, he always took good care of _his_ patients, "Don't be insulting."

A chirp on his PADD pulled Jim's attention from thoughts of Spock to the present. He looked down, not surprised to see who was messaging him while on duty.

**Lt. Uhura:**___How is he?_

**Cpt. Kirk: **_Stable. Still not awake though…_

Uhura smiled down at her PADD. She knew the rumors onboard the ship were that Kirk and Spock were already a couple, Uhura knew that was not the case. Spock, despite identifying his feelings for Jim a few months ago, hadn't told the Captain how he felt. Uhura had tried to convince Spock that it was better to confess and have the conversation than to avoid it and always wonder what could have been. Spock had argued that statistically, he already knew would 'could be' and what 'could not be.' Nyota was well aware of her Captain's reputation as a lady's man, but Uhura had known Jim since before he'd taken command of the _Enterprise_. She'd had an opportunity to observe him every day for over six years now and she felt she was a pretty good judge of his character.

There was one thing her gut just knew to be truth: Jim was absolutely, head over boots in love with his First Officer, and everyone on this ship seemed to know it except for Spock. There was no argument she could make, no words of encouragement she could give that would incite Spock to make a move—_any move_. It was taking everything ounce of her control not to approach Kirk and give him a clue. Nyota wanted Spock to be happy, but she couldn't betray his trust either. To her knowledge, Spock hadn't even informed his father that he was homosexual, if the invitations for dinner with various female guests next time they were around Vafer-Tor were any indication. _Christ,_ Nyota sighed as she typed another message to the Captain.

**Lt. Uhura:** _Have there been any more leads into who might have done this?_

**Cpt. Kirk**: _Not yet. We're pretty sure whoever it is either works in one of Spock's departments. I'm still waiting on the psych evals that Pike called in for, but he's been having some trouble getting them past Admiral Komack. Apparently, he thinks our request is a blatant violation of doctor-patient confidentiality. It would help if Spock would wake up so I can figure out what the Hell he might know about his attacker. _

Jim hadn't told anyone other than Giotto about his suspicions regarding Spock's alleged 'equipment malfunction.' If Spock cleaned up whatever mess was made by the malfunction (which Jim is pretty sure is an inaccurate description of what really happened), then he may have important evidence in his possession that could help them put this thing together.

**Lt. Uhura: **_That's Bull. Starfleet regulation 1456, section 18 states that any records of any crew are subject to review by the Captain of their assigned vessel when cognitive functionality of any crewmember becomes a threat to any person onboard the vessel or to the vessel itself. _

**Cpt. Kirk:** _I know about the regulation, but there's a stipulation. The crewmember in question has to be named. We don't have a suspect and technically, we can't just go pulling the medical records of everyone on board. At least, that is the argument Komack is making for this._

**Lt. Uhura: **_What is his problem? Our First Officer was the victim of a brutal onboard HATE CRIME! Isn't there some kind of exception? I mean, he can't seriously expect us to sit on our thumbs while this terrorist could be plotting his next attempt on Spock's life._

**Cpt. Kirk: **_The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. As much as I hate that Komack is holding up my investigation, he does have a valid point, even if I seriously doubt he cares. When you start making exceptions to the rules, especially those concerning privacy, it's a slippery slope. _

Uhura let out a frustrated sigh. Okay, so Komack had, at face value, a good reason for holding up the psych evals, but Nyota had serious doubts regarding Komack's concerns for the privacy of Starfleet's service men and women.

**Lt. Uhura: **_So, what are you going to do?_

**Cpt. Kirk: **_I'm going to do what I do best. _

**Lt. Uhura: **_Could you be more specific…?_

**Cpt. Kirk: **_Flattery will get you everywhere _

**Lt. Uhura: **_Come on…I need to know that you've got this._

**Cpt. Kirk: **_Don't I always? _

**Cpt. Kirk: **_No more questions. Back to work, Lieutenant._

**Lt. Uhura: **_*eye roll* Yes, __**sir**_**.**

Kirk smiled as he exited the chat box. He had a plan, alright, but he was going to need to know what Spock knew. He was about to press the comm button on his arm panel when his intercom went off, "McCoy to Bridge."

"Bridge here," Jim tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. He knew he had failed when he saw Sulu and Checkov exchange smirks. _Can it, you two, _he thought as he waited for McCoy to respond.

"The hobgoblin's awake, Captain." McCoy informed before his voice took on a Southern lilt that was only used in extreme moments of frustration, "He says he's ready to return to duty and that requiring him a security escort is _illogical._"

Jim chuckled as his eyes me those of the smiling bridge crew, all taking the doctor's report as the good sign it was—that Spock was definitely okay, or going to be at any rate, "Tell security to escort Mr. Spock to his quarters. I'm sure he's ready to get out of there. Tell him I'll meet him there." He did _not_ hop out of his chair before handing off the conn to Sulu and taking the turbolift straight to deck five.

Spock awoke in sickbay at 1437 hours, fully cognizant of his surroundings, bodily condition and the events that had led to his current presence in sickbay. However, instead of running through all the events and trying to analyze them for clues as to the identity of his attacker, Spock was distracted with the recall of words spoken within his range of hearing during his restive state.

The heightened awareness of Vulcans in everything from vision and auditory functions to taste and smell were well known facts throughout the galaxy. The ability of Vulcans to remain conscious of their surroundings and events taking place within the vicinity of their body while not actually awake was a lesser known fact. This ability was something from which Spock had yet to reap any real benefit…until today, that is. _Jim,_ Spock thought, his heart hammering in his side at what he had just learned from his post-restive consciousness. Jim had stayed with him throughout the Captain's usual resting hours. Spock could still feel the pressure of his friend's head where it had laid for most of the night against Spock's forearm.

McCoy's words echoed in Spock's mind, _"…could just tell the hobgoblin how you feel…" _and Jim's answering reply, "_…it's not that simple, Bones, and you know it. I could tell him that I love him, but…" _The rest of the conversation was inconsequential. _Jim is in love with me._

Despite everything that had happened to him in the past six point four days, Spock had never felt such overwhelming emotion: Relief, hope, joy and, finally, desire. Spock desired to show Jim just how wrong his assumptions were. He most certainly would _not_ be filing a harassment suit, nor would he request a transfer. Motion outside his door drew his attention to the two red-clad individuals standing silently in front of his room and Spock's hand absentmindedly traveled to his abdomen. Alas, the distraction provided by Jim's spoken affection for him could not last indefinitely.

Spock was gratified to find that not so much of a hint of the '_half breed'_ slur remained after McCoy's regeneration and subsequent treatment. Spock had made an egregious miscalculation as to the time interval between the first incident and the next, should his attacker be planning to commit subsequent attacks. Furthermore, Spock had underestimated the level of escalation in violence associated with the attacks. A broken monitor was certainly a show of his attacker's potential toward volatile actions; however, this second personal attack not only demonstrated a clear homicidal intent, but extensive planning and preparation. How long had this person been planning these events?

"Well," McCoy burst through the door, "It's about time you woke up. You've been out for twenty some odd hours!"

"Eighteen hours, twelve minutes and thirty six—"

"Yeah, yeah," McCoy waved his hand to cut off the Vulcan's recitation, "I was rounding."

Spock allowed the doctor to scan his vitals for one point four minutes before sitting completely up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, to which the doctor reacted with affront, "Just where the Hell do you think you're going, hobgoblin?"

"Doctor," Spock intoned, looking the man directly in the eyes. "While I am gratified that your instruments were able to repair the damage rendered to my person, Vulcans possess the ability to sense and control their every organ and muscle as well as multiple bodily functions. I assure you, that I am fully recovered."

"Yeah?" McCoy said, deliberately punching in the settings for his next set of scans, "Well I don't give a damn what your Vulcan hoo-doo has to say about your 'bodily functions.' You just received 500 volts of electric shock via a tampered shield outlet. You're lucky the amps weren't high enough to completely fry that Vulcan heart of yours. As if that weren't enough, you also suffered severe phaser burns to a good portion of abdominal tissue."

He reached out a hand and forcibly yanked up Spock's shirt so he could scan the healed skin of Spock's stomach. Satisfied, he pushed it back down, just as forcibly and started the Vulcan down, "I had to _revive you_," McCoy ground out through gritted teeth, "in the goddamned hallway. I'm gonna wave every goddamned bell and rattle I've got in this medbay until I'm good satisfied that you're _fully recovered_ under _my _standards, **got it**?"

Spock's simple response was to raise an indignant eyebrow, turn his head away slightly and mutter a succinct, "Indeed." This reaction, of course, was exactly what Bones had been going for. He plastered a self-satisfied (teetering on the edge of sadistic) smile on his lips and merrily raised his tricorder to perform his third set of scans.

Jim buzzed Spock's door, his heart beating merrily in his chest with relief. Spock was in there, alive and well and the thought flooded the Captain with relief. "Enter," came the answering reply in Spock's usual monotone. Kirk nodded to the guards standing on the opposite side of the hallway, before walking through the door and far enough into Spock's quarters to have it shut behind him. "Spock?" he called out when the Vulcan was nowhere in sight.

"I am here," Spock called from the head. "I will be with you momentarily."

"Changing out of those scrubs?" Jim grimaced; he hated the material they used for patient robes in sickbay. It was like flexible cardboard and it scraped like sandpaper in all the wrong places.

"Indeed," Spock answered as he pulled on and over shirt, before rearranging his hair and exiting into the main room of his quarters. Jim had taken a seat on the double couch and looked up to beam a thousand watt smile in Spock's direction. How had he never noticed it before? In Jim's eyes, Spock was seeing the same emotion that he had recognized in himself three point four five months ago. Of course, at that time, Spock had merely mistaken the emotion for mere attraction. When he had found time to focus his meditation upon the 'attraction' as he had described to Nyota all those months ago, Spock had been shock at what he found lurking in the depths of his consciousness.

It had flooded through Spock's mind—his very being—as images of Jim from different points of their mission had zipped through his meditative state. This 'attraction' was more than sexual in nature, Spock had realized. It was in every motivation for coercing Jim's smile, his laugh…that _look._ The sensations caused by Jim's hand on his shoulder, the feeling of utter belonging he felt when the Captain deferred to Spock's opinion on various courses of action during missions and diplomatic encounters.

The knowledge that the seat next to Kirk in the mess hall _belonged_ to Spock—the fact that anyone that ate any meal with the Captain knew better than to sit in the seat to the Captain's left because it belonged to the _First Officer_—had filled Spock with a such surge of possessive happiness that he could scarcely remain in his meditative state. He realized, after that short hour of inflection, that he was not merely attracted to Jim—was not merely aroused by the man's touch. Spock was in love with James T. Kirk. Thoroughly. Hopelessy. Had been for a very long time, in fact.

He crossed the room and sat in the arm chair across from his Captain. Before he could so much as open his mouth in greeting, Jim began his inquiries, "Spock," Jim's eyes were full of intent and determination, "It wasn't just an equipment malfunction in the greenhouse, was it?"

Spock found himself unable to speak around the truth in the face of such blatant concern, "No, sir."

Jim took a deep breath. He had known it, after all, but confirming it…he let out his breath in a huff and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, hoping to alleviate the headache that was beginning to intercede upon all his good intentions. Finally, blue eyes once again met brown, "Tell me what happened."

Spock gave a nod, before inclining one eyebrow, "As you wish." He relayed the events of the first incident to the Captain, not happy to notice that as he progressed in his recollections, the Captain seemed more and more agitated. He observed, upon finishing his retelling, that Jim was now rubbing his temples in slow, deep circles.

"Why didn't you file a report?" Spock was about to answer, when Jim held up and hand, forestalling his explanation, "Nevermind, I'm sure I already know. You overheard Giotto when he called you a 'green-blooded bastard,' didn't you?"

"Indeed, I had surmised-"

"You surmised that the chain of command might be compromised," whatever confirmation Jim was looking for in Spock's non-expression, he must have found it, for he continued, "but what I don't understand, Spock…" He broke off and opened his arms in entreaty, "What I don't understand, Spock, is why didn't come to _me._ I'm your Captain," he stressed. "More than that, even. I'm your _friend_, or at least I had hoped you'd come to think me as one."

"Capt—_Jim," _Spock interrupted, "I do—"

"Then why didn't you trust me with this?" Jim stood suddenly, pacing—a bad sign, Spock knew. "What?" he asked, his eyes pained, leveled onto Spock, "Did you think I'd just laugh and brush it off? That I'd be too busy to hunt this fucker down?" Jim shook his head in frustration, "Or did you think…" he cut himself off, walking over to Spock's desk, facing away from the Vulcan. His hands rested on the surface as he leaned forward against it, he couldn't bear the thought of Spock thinking he'd sympathize with his attacker, but he had to ask. He had to know. His voice soft when the words found their way past his lips, "Or did you think that I'd betray you? That I might agree with him about you. Hmm? Is that what you thought?"

"No, Jim," Spock found himself standing and moving across to the desk, coming to stand just barely a foot behind his sulking friend. "I could never think that."

Jim continued to stare down a Spock's desk, still not turning to face him, "They why didn't you—"

"I knew that you would insist upon filing a report," Spock intoned. "I did not wish for this incident to reflect poorly upon your captaincy. More importantly," Spock paused, inching just a bit closer, "I did not wish you to become a target." Jim nodded, indicating that he was listening, "At the time, I believed that the next attack would not occur for some time, as is common in racially motivated harassment. Typically, escalation is gradual. As I said, a miscalculation, however, at the time—investigating alone seemed logical."

Jim let out a sigh, _just let it go. _He needed to find out if Spock had any clues he might have picked up from the first attack, "Did you keep the stone from the first attack?"

"Yes," Spock replied, as Jim finally turned around to face him. Seeing such concern and determination swelling behind those blue eyes, Spock control began to slip. How had he missed such open affection? It had always been presence, but somehow, knowing that Jim returned his love, made finding and identifying that love easier. "Allow me to retrieve it for you."

It was the only warning Jim got before Spock stepped forward, leaving their bodies with a scant two inches between them. Spock was looking at a point just behind Jim, his left arm reaching for what Jim assumed to be the stone, as he could hear what sounded like a box being opened from behind. He was too distracted by the closeness of Spock's neck to really understand the situation. If only he could step back, he would realize that, logically, Spock was using the most illogical means necessary to retrieve the stone for Jim's inspection. He might be able to see the intent behind the motion. As it was, however, he was too busy trying not to breathe…or well, pant.

Spock's scent was all around him, his body heat rolling over Jim's body like an electric blanket. The Vulcan's neck, its smooth and creamy skin, was so close to Jim face, that all he'd have to do is lean forward a few millimeters to taste it…

"Here," Spock's voice caused Jim to visibly flinch. He coughed and looked away to cover his awkwardness as his First brought the stone between them for Jim's inspection. Spock hadn't moved an inch backward, and Jim would be damned if he was going to call the Vulcan on a violation of human social norms (such as 3 feet of personal space) at a time like this. Instead, he turned his attention to the object in Spock's hand, very much aware that their foreheads were nearly touching to the point that Jim could feel whispers of Spock's hair against his brow.

Jim watched as Spock flipped the stone over to reveal a message that had be engraved into the surface. Jim felt bile threaten to move up his throat as he read the chilling words:

_**you don't belong here, green-blooded freak**_

Jim took a calming breath, before taking the stone from Spock and placing it back on the desk. It had finally caught up to him that Spock was in his personal space because he wanted to be, not because it was the most logical route to retrieving the stone. Slowly, so that if Jim had misjudged Spock's motives, the Vulcan would have enough time to move away, he brought his hand to meet Spock's cheek in a gentle caress.

He moved his thumb to trace upswept eyebrows, high, aristocratic cheek bones, strong jaw and finally, soft lips. When Spock's gaze continued to hold his, and the Vulcan did not move away, Jim brought his forehead to Spock's and his left hand to the other side of Spock's face, "How can anyone look at someone as beautiful…come to know someone as wonderful as you…and think that you don't belong?" With that, Jim brought their lips together in their first kiss. How was either of them to know just how addicting that first contact would be?


	5. Chapter 5

Jim had meant for the kiss to be light—a simple declaration of the deeper feelings he possessed for his friend. He hadn't, however, counted on Spock's reaction, which was anything but the shy response OR the violent shove, both of which the Captain had pegged as possible outcomes. Instead of being shoved away, he was forcibly hauled into the Vulcan's arms where his kisses were not merely shyly accepted, but eagerly reciprocated.

It had taken two point seven seconds for Spock to react to the realizing of three of his recent fantasies simultaneously. When Jim's tongue had swiped gently across his bottom lip, Spock's mouth had opened of its own accord. The human in his arms had seemed somewhat amazed for the barest of moments at Spock's easy reaction, but then Jim's tongue was in his mouth, his breath mingling with Spock's own as that first tentative press of lips had suddenly given way to fierce exploration. Vulcan arms had pulled Jim into an embrace that might have been just this side of crushing.

Jim's hands were immediately everywhere—touching everything he had fantasized about for months. Silky hair, pointed ears, strong shoulders and muscular back. Finally, he managed to pull the seam of Spock's undershirt from his pants before sliding his eager palms and fingers over smooth, searing skin. Spock moaned into Jim's mouth as strong hands grabbed mounds of flesh at Jim's backside and hoisted him onto the desk, his legs parting and Spock filling the space between. In the back of his mind, he was sure there was something important they needed to be discussing, but the second he felt Spock's arousal press into his own eager erection, all thoughts of anything not related to _more_…went flying out the proverbial airlock.

Jim's hips arched off the desk when Spock's mouth closed over the pulse point on his neck and sucked, forcing a helpless moan from his Captain's throat. "Shit," Jim panted. "Ghod, Spock, I want…Oh, fuck….I want…" He will not later deny the fact that he was begging. However, the idea that his voice sounded like little more than a wanton sob is an entirely different matter.

Spock pulled Jim's shirt over his head, "Yes, Jim," he purred into the humans deliciously rounded ear, "Tell me what you want."

"Everything," Jim whispered fiercely, before gaining enough of his wits to yank Spock's shirt up and away, attacking the first beautiful, pert nipple in sight. Spock's hands came to cradle Jim's head as he watched a pink tongue circle the areoles. When the beautiful mouth of his Captain closed over the tiny, hard bud, sucking then biting gently, Spock's head fell back and he all but growled in the intensity of his pleasure.

He could feel Jim smiling against his skin, "Like that, do you?"

"Yes," Spock managed to rasp. "I did not know…"

Jim's mouth was now on Spock's other nipple, while Jim's thumb continued to circle around the first, "What didn't you know?" he asked before nipping softly at the bud.

"I did not know…" his breathing was ragged, as he stood there between Jim's legs, aggressor turned willing victim, "…that it could be like this…" he finally managed to complete a full thought.

At that confession, he was disappointed to realize that Jim had ceased his ministrations and was now staring up at him with what looked like something akin to shock. When Spock raised an inquisitive eyebrow, Jim finally voiced his concern, "You've done this before, right?"

"Define '_this'_," Spock intoned, nonplussed as he began removing Jim's boots.

Jim halted the Vulcan's attempts at further divesting his clothing, drawing the Vulcan's gaze, "I'm talking about _this,_" Jim gestured widely at their current scenario, "Spock. Sex—with a woman…with a man? Anything?"

Spock quirked an indignant brow, "I have _attempted_ it, however, the results were unsatisfactory."

Now Jim was curious. He took a deep breath, "I think we need to talk for a minute."

"Do you not wish to…" Spock's voice was firm, but hesitant and one look into those uncertain eyes made Jim's heart clench.

"_No_, that's not what I meant," Jim immediately reassured, "I want this…I want _you_—"

"Ah," Spock seemed to finally be getting it, then, "Is there a medical condition which prevents you from—"

"What?" Jim hopped off the desk and rounded on his _too innocent_ looking First. "Damn it, Spock, I'm trying to be chivalrous here, okay?" He then took Spock's hands and gently stroked his knuckles with his thumbs, "I care about you, Spock."

"I am aware—"

"I love you," Jim's eyes had never held such a striking vulnerability, "and even if this wasn't your first time having sex…I want to give you the kind of experience you deserve," Jim pulled his Vulcan into his arms and kissed his temple. He whispered against a pointed ear, "It shouldn't be mindless rutting on a desk…not that I don't find that hot as hell or wouldn't consider revisiting that idea in the future. Just not for our first time together, okay?"

Spock nodded into Jim's shoulder, his shields lowered completely, as he basked in the love and affection that was pouring from every point of contact their bared flesh shared. "I will bow to your logic on this occasion, Jim," Spock placed a gentle to kiss into soft, blonde hair. "What do you suggest?"

"Mmmmm," Jim groaned when Spock began nipping gently at his ear. "You can keep doing that, for starters," he instructed as they made their way slowly and quite entwined, to the sleeping alcove behind the divider in Spock's quarters.

Jim moved his hands to the fastener of Spock's pants, then paused before unclasping it, "Spock, you know we don't have to move right into this." When his lover merely tilted his head to the side in inquiry, Jim expounded, "What I mean is, we can take this slow. I would never start anything with you that I wasn't ready to commit to. I want…" Jim suddenly looked as if he had just made a great error, "I'm sorry, Spock. I didn't even ask you what you wanted from this. I just assumed that you would…" he broke off, looking thoroughly dejected, "If you don't want me like that, I understand. It's whatever you want," Jim tried to smile nonchalantly, but Spock could feel the surface emotions waging war within Jim's mind—trepidation, longing, embarrassment and most of all pain—at the thought that Spock might not be seeking the same type of commitment as Jim. This would not do.

"What I want," Spock kissed the frown from his lover's lips, "is you, ashaya." He placed kisses along Jim's jaw and neck as hope began to emerge among the conflicting emotions, "After the first time that I became aroused in your presence, I meditated upon my attraction." He paused to unclasp his own pants as Jim's hand had fallen away some minutes ago, "I discovered that I have been in love with you for approximately nine months, three weeks, four days, eighteen hours and—"

Jim's grabbed Spock's head and kissed him all the force of his longing, his insecurities immediately tossed aside with his First Officer's pants as the he found himself all but pushed onto the bed. Slowly, Spock lowered his knees onto the mattress before crawling toward his now fully erect partner, the human's penis tenting the pants holding it confined. "While I am…gratified…that you would attempt to be chivalrous on my behalf, I am neither a fair maiden nor completely inept in the mechanics of intercourse. I have desired you," he popped open the button of Jim's trousers, eliciting a shaky gasp from his prey, "for so long."

The sound of the zipper being pulled was incredibly loud to Jim's ears, as he was focused on the sight of Spock's hands—_Ghod, Spock's_ _hands—_working to remove the last vestiges of his clothing. The almost purr of the Vulcan's usually stoic voice, drew his attention as he lifted his gaze to meet intense brown orbs, "I do not desire to wait," two thumbs gripped either side of the bands to Jim's boxers and pants. "I would have all of you," Spock lowered his head to kiss the patch of skin where leg met hip, "in all the ways one takes a lover."

Jim's throat had a second to closer over the lump that had formed there at Spock's words, before his pants were pulled down and tossed, haphazardly, over a Vulcan shoulder. He became aware then, that his cock was bobbing around in open air, but Spock was still wearing his boxers. _To Hell with that,_ was his first coherent thought since being shoved onto the bed. Then, locking a leg behind Spock's knee and an arm around an elbow he flipped them over. Spock lifted an amused eyebrow, clearly enjoying the view of Jim's naked form above him.

Jim smirked down at his wanton little virgin, "I think you enjoyed that a little too much, Mister—tossing me on the bed, about to have your wicked way with me…"

The corner of Spock's mouth twitched upward slightly, "It was quite…gratifying, at the time."

"So," Jim dipped his hips so that the head of his penis trailed a line of pre-cum from Spocks' bellybutton to the band of his underwear, "in _all_ the ways one takes a lover, huh?"

Spock licked his lips as his eyes focused intently on Jim's weeping erection. "Yes," he half-spoke, half-panted his ascent. "Please, Jim…"

"Your wish is my command," Jim bent to press a kiss to Spock's forehead before leaning back and freeing Spock's beautiful, alien hardness. Jim flashed a devilish smile at Spock's openly curious expression, "Fascinating," he admired Spock's length playfully. He'd seen Spock nude before, in the sonics after sparring and in the transporter room that one time when the entire landing party had to be quarantined upon beam-up. He'd just never seen him hard before…never seen those double ridges flaring, or the head leaking Spock's essence down the shaft. He licked his lips, "I'm going to taste every inch of you," he promised, his voice deep with arousal.

"May I suggest a place from which you may start," Spock dead-panned, but he couldn't hide his eyes—the irises of which were blown wide with desire.

Jim hmmm'd his consideration, "That won't be necessary, First Officer, I think I can figure it out." With that, Jim bent his head and engulfed the head of Spock's penis, inserting his tongue into the slit and sucking out the precum, partly because he wanted to make Spock lose it and partly because he just really wanted to taste it.

Spock arched off the bed with a highly-unVulcan, raggedly whispered, _"Fuck!"_ He had perhaps been expecting Jim to manually stimulate his organ with his hand, but the fellatio had taken him off guard. His entirely human reaction and loss of vocabulary was simply, _"Fascinating,"_ he mused aloud a second later. Jim smiled around Spock's dick, his chuckle sending tiny vibrations down the shaft.

"I'm glad you think so," was Jim's highly satisfied reply. "If you like that, though, you're gonna love _this_." Spock watched curiously as Jim pulled a pillow from the head of the bed, complying when Jim told him to lift his hips so he could slide it underneath. He watched as Jim gazed at him with open admiration, seemingly fighting some moment of indecision before stretching the length of his body over Spock's.

Jim sucked in a breath at the feeling of Spock's arousal pressed against his own, cradled between their bodies. He braced his hands on either side of Spock's face and pushed up to smile down at his eager bedmate. "This isn't what I was going to show you, but I just had to feel you," Jim's voice was thick with restraint. Spock was fighting too hard to gain control over his body's reaction to the new sensations to care about anything else. He knew that climaxing now would be inadvisable as he did not yet wish these activities to come to an end.

Unfortunately, Jim couldn't resist Spock's parted lips, and Spock's cock pulsed painfully when Jim's tongue—just his tongue—began to stroke into his mouth, matching the rhythm of their undulating hips. The human tongue pressed in, then retreated, only to press in again, mimicking the act of intercourse. When the golden body finally pulled away, it was almost too late as Spock's penis was now leaking copious amounts of fluid. He noticed Jim's organ was in much the same condition, as a thin strand of liquid clung and stretched between their organs before finally breaking as Jim once again knelt between Spock's now raise pelvis.

"Goddamn, but you're delicious," Jim sighed. His look then became intent, "I don't want you to hold back, Spock. If at any time during what I'm about to do you feel yourself approaching the edge," he stroked the Vulcan's thighs lovingly, "Just fling yourself off it, okay?"

"I do not wish it to end so soon," Spock's voice held a tinge of regret.

"Who said anything about ending it soon?" Jim's hands were now working a path toward Spock's center, his thumbs rubbing a soothing pattern into the silky black curls surrounding the base of his shaft. "We've got plenty of time. No one is going to interrupt us—you're on medical leave for the next day and a half and I'm in here 'interrogating' you, and we'll get to that later too. Right now, though, it's you and me and we're all that exists for the next fourteen hours."

Before Spock could reply in agreement, Jim had lowered his head to lap at Spock's penis, mouthing lines of wet kisses up and down the shaft, every time he reached the head, his tongue would twirl around the double ridges before dipping in and out of the slit at the tip before starting over. Gripping handfuls of his bed sheets Spock attempted to keep from bucking off the matress. When Jim finally took Spock's length into his hot, wet mouth he let out a shout of relief and string of Klingon curses. "Yes. _Yes_," he half-sobbed, his head thrown back and eyes closed in rapture. He had no idea how overwhelmingly pleasurable this level of physical intimacy could be. No wonder Nyota had tried so hard for this in their relationship…it was so…"Ah," Jim willed another moan from his lips. So _good_, Spock thought, _so very, very good._

He felt every nerve ending in the head of his penis as Jim's mouth slid over and down the length of his shaft as far as he could. It was then, with the doubled ridged head pressed against the back of his throat that Jim swallowed and moaned, flinging Spock over the edge, his cock pumping his seed into Jim's mouth and down his throat. He could feel every motion as that beloved mouth swallowed it all; sucking greedily at the slit for everything Spock had to offer. When his cock finally acquiesced to his release, Jim let it drop from his mouth with an audible, squelching pop.

Their eyes met for an intense moment, before Spock was off his back and flinging Jim to the mattress beneath him. There was no time for Jim to be snarky regarding Spock's lack of decorum, as his lips were attacked by a fast-learning Vulcan on a mission. Eager hands roamed the planes of his lover's body as his erection was pressed happily against…what appeared to be Spock's already returning hard-on. He wasn't able to glory in the friction for long, as Spock was now shoving the pillow under Jim's ass and dipping his head between his thighs. He thought himself prepared for whatever Spock's reciprocation would be—He was wrong. His eyes snapped open and he yelped in stunned surprise when his cheeks were parted and a hot tongue was pressed to his tight hole.

"Holy _FUCK_!" Jim shouted as his hips strained against the hands holding him in place. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," he chanted as his innocent, now only slightly less than virginal First Officer began teasing his anus with molten tongue and silky lips. Spock was ruthless as licked around and around his entrance, the tight ring quivering at all the attention before he puckered his lips around the muscle and sucked. Jim's cock was throbbing painfully, crying out for touch, beads of cum dripping down the shaft to pool at the base. "Oh Ghod, Spock," Jim writhed on the bed, "Oh Please, please…"

In answer, Spock thrust his tongue into Jim's twitching hole, tasting the essence of his lover, Jim's scent inflaming his own arousal. When Jim began thrusting back onto Spock's tongue, he allowed it, letting his lover—now mindless in his desire, Spock was sure—fuck himself on his Vulcan mouth. When Jim began begging for more, "Please, Spock, _more_…more _now_…_please…"_ He carefully began to insert his index finger, slowing penetrating the first ring of muscle, followed oh so slowly by the second, until it was submerged completely.

Jim, now knowing exactly what he wanted, grabbed the bottle of essential oil from the beside table he knew Spock used during meditation and thrust it at Spock, their eyes meeting while Spock continued to thrust his finger in and out, slowly driving them both insane, "I want you inside me…_fast._"

Spock bent over Jim, kissing him thoroughly as he took the bottle. He had never done this before, but Jim wanted him…_needed _him…and Spock was disinclined to deny this man anything. He was determined to give Jim all the loving and pleasure his body could provide. He coated a second finger in the proffered oil before slowly sliding it in alongside the first working them together to loosen Jim's channel. The pleasure at having two of fingers squeezed so tightly by Jim's warm opening was making his cock throb in longing, but he was still aware that the muscle would need to be stretched thoroughly before penetration so as not to cause unnecessary pain. Spock recalled all of the articles he had read on the _Galactinet_ about how to properly prepare one's anus for penetration and applied it to his ministrations on Jim. When he felt the muscle relax again, he entered a third finger, to which Jim moaned his approval, rocking back to meet every stroke of Spock's digits.

"Fuck, Spock, I'm ready…please, just do it," Jim ordered, his penis painfully hard as he tugged on it intermittently to at least provide it some relief during Spock's expert handling of his quivering hole. Finally, Spock withdrew his fingers, much to Jim's ass's chagrin before he felt the head of Spock's dick began to prod gently at his opening. Spock leaned forward over Jim, as he slowly eased his substantial length into his lover's body. Jim threw his head back with a long moan as finally—_finally_—Spock was buried to the hilt. For a minute they lay there, bodies entwined, chests heaving as they let their love flow between them. "_Ghod_, you feel so good," Jim managed to mutter between kisses. He brought a hand up to the side of Spock's face, stroking lovingly along his jaw line. Spock pressed a loving kiss to the palm before taking the hand and entwining with his own. He then took Jim's mouth in a long, slow kiss as he began to slowly, gently make love to his Captain, friend and now lover.

The previously frantic motions of earlier were now more focused, more deliberate. Jim's hands glided up and down Spock's back leisurely as the Vulcan rolled his hips into Jim's entrance, his pace relaxed, but steady as he thrust in firmly, and withdrew slowly. Over and over, Jim felt the double ridges caress his prostate as Spock drove tediously into him, pulling him closer and closer to the precipice. He'd never had anyone love him so carefully, as reverently as Spock was doing right now and eyes were watering with beauty of it. Spock may have been the virgin in technical terms, but this was also a first for Jim in many different ways. He wanted it to always be like this—with Spock's forehead pressed against his, breathing each other's air as their bodies moved together—eyes wide open and knowing the soul behind them.

Spock wiped the lone tear that had managed to escape down Jim's cheek, leaving a wet stripe in its path. He bent forward and pressed a kiss to Jim's lips, "Do not weep, ashaya. It will always be like this between us," Spock whispered. He then lovingly grasped Jim's organ and, with two long strokes, felt Jim find his relief, long ropes of semen shooting forth between their bodies as Jim moaned loud and long. His anal muscles clenched around Spock with every throb of his cock until the Vulcan climaxed for the second time in his life, spending himself deep within his T'hy'la's body.

Exhausted, Spock lowered himself momentarily to rest on top of Jim, not yet ready to leave the warmth of their shared embrace. After a moment, he felt an unexpected and overwhelming sense of shame flow through him from Jim. Confused, he looked up to see Jim's face turned as far into the pillow as he could manage, bottom lip wedged between biting teeth and tears falling in quick succession over his nose and onto the pillow. Pulling his spent member from Jim's body, Spock rolled onto his side and pulled his lover into his arms. "T'hy'la," he soothed, pulling the blankets over them both. "Why is thy weeping?"

Jim took a steadying breath, he felt about as tall as a three year old girl. How utterly humiliating—crying there like a little girl all because Spock made him feel so…so…_full_. _Ghod, how pathetic? _James Tiberius Kirk was _not_ some weeping damsel in distress. He did _not_ cry—_ever_—in this he was as Vulcan as Spock and he sure as hell didn't need or take _comfort _by cuddling into his lover's armsafter mind blowing sex!

Except that it hadn't been just good sex and…_cuddling_ was, in fact, exactly what he was doing at the moment. Heaving a great sigh of defeat, Jim allowed himself the comfort that Spock's arms provided. When his tears finally gave way to shaky, but even breathing, he found his ability to speak, "I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry, ashaya," Spock's stoic, baritone voice was back to normal, but it seemed to hold a note of affection that hadn't been there previously. "If you do not wish to talk about what it is that is troubling you, I will understand."

The arm Jim had draped over Spock's side squeezed the Vulcan affectionately. In truth, Jim didn't completely understand it himself. Sex wasn't new to him, but being treated as if he were something cherished was something he'd never experienced before and it was nice…cleansing, even. "It's nothing bad…I'm just…overwhelmed, I guess. You're supposed to be the virgin here but I feel like it's my first time all over again, all because I've never had anyone _make love _to me before…it kind of took me for a loop is all," he paused, "in a good way."

Spock hummed as he pressed an understanding kiss to Jim's forehead, "I am gratified that our joining was as profound for you as it was for me."

"Me too," Jim smiled into his lover's neck, where he had nestled earlier in an attempt to hide his face from Spock's concerned gaze. They lay there in silence for a while, enjoying the closeness and intimacy of their post-coital cuddle, when Jim finally decided it was time to deal with the issue he had originally came into to Spock's quarters to discuss. "Spock," he said, feeling all the manlier with the return of his Captain's voice.

"Yes?" Spock responded, tamping down on the vague strings of trepidation as he was fairly sure he knew what Jim wanted to discuss.

Jim pressed a reassuring peck onto Spock's nose, "We need to figure out how to catch the asshole that assaulted you."

Spock duplicated Jim's position, propping himself up onto one elbow and resting his other arm around Jim's waist, "What do you propose?"

"We need to find some way to lure this guy into making another move," Jim furrowed his brow in contemplation.

"You would attempt to draw him out?" Spock queried. "That would likely require the removal of the security team from outside my quarters."

"Yeah, but I don't like the idea of using you as bait, so we'll have to find another way," he clarified. "Giotto and I are pretty sure that whoever did this is either someone that works in one of your departments or in Engineering, given the level of expertise they used in carrying out the assaults and manipulating that shield."

Spock nodded his agreement, "I have also surmised as much which is why I had thought to fashion multiple mini-recording devices to my person in order to catch a glimpse of the culprit during his next attack." It is a well known fact that many criminals derive a level of pleasure from viewing their crimes at a safe distance, although in some cases, from the scene itself.

Jim perked up immediately, "Were you wearing any in the hall yesterday?"

Spock nodded, "Indeed. If you are willing to assist me, we can remove the devices from my uniform and replay the footage."

"Spock, you're a genius," Kirk declared, jumping up from the bed with renewed enthusiasm only to be thwarted by the feeling of sticky sheets clinging to the evidence of their activities. He smiled affectionately at his equally disheveled bedmate, Spock's normally perfect hair was kinds of chaotic, his lips were swollen and there were traces of Jim's semen coating his stomach.

"Perhaps it would be efficacious to first make use of the head before we proceed," Spock intoned, crossing the distance between them and turning Jim in the direction of the shower.

"Yes, sir," Jim allowed himself to be guided into the bathroom, thinking to himself that this was the start of a beautiful, life-long relationship and he wasn't about to let some xenophobic whack job fuck it up. He, Giotto and Spock were gonna find this guy and when they did, Jim was going to see to it that the bastard spent the rest of his life on an Orion penal colony, digging for black market dilithium and getting ass raped on a daily basis.

But first, Jim was going to get nice and soapy with his beloved green-blooded, beautiful _half_-Vulcan and to hell with anybody that might have a problem with it.

Meanwhile

Ensign Theodore J. Matthews slipped the container of stolen minerals into his pocket. Dr. McCoy might not have been able to see an immediate use for this new found material, but Matthews could certainly think of at least _one_ very good purpose.

A/N: I'm glad so many of you are enjoying the story so far and adding it to your favorites and alerts. I've actually got the entire story almost written, it's just a matter of splitting up the chapters and splitting posting them onto the site. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

"Alright," Captain Kirk said from behind his seat at the head of the briefing table. The bridge crew, along with the heads of all ship departments were in attendance; a tight squeeze for sure. "As you're all aware, there was an incident two days ago on Deck 3 involving Mr. Spock," he gestured to his First Office, "and a 'malfunctioning' security shield outlet."

Everyone in attendance nodded their heads, confirming their knowledge of the event. Only the bridge crew, security and the present med staff knew the exact details regarding the incident, while many in the room were still under the impression that it was a simple malfunction and were very much confused as to why there was a meeting being held to discuss something which had nothing to do with their individual departments and duties. Kirk knew this to be the case and he hated to put people on red alert, but this perp had demonstrated high levels of knowledge in multiple fields: Computer Science, Electrical Engineering, Transporter Physics and Security Systems. Who knew what else this guy knew how to do and for that reason alone, he had made sure that all heads of all departments were present, in case they might have noticed any oddities among their personnel.

Kirk dropped the retrieved micro-processor found within the shield's panel, "This was retrieved from the panel that 'malfunctioned', which if you haven't guessed by now, didn't do so on its own."

Lieutenant Jeannette Marsh, a human Computer Scientist and head of the onboard Artificial Intelligence Department gasped in shock, "Someone purposely tried to injure the crew?"

"Not the crew," Giotto spoke up, taking a position beside the First Officer, "but Commander Spock, specifically."

Another room-wide gasp among the department heads sounded, followed by soft chatter and speculation. "How do you know it was specifically for Mr. Spock?" An Andorian, Lt. Yetoveah, from Life Sciences asked. As an alien aboard a predominantly human-manned ship, he was concerned that the attacker could just be targeting aliens, and stated as much.

Kirk nodded in understanding regarding the Andorian's worries, "A few reasons," he replied, picking up the next few pieces of evidence. "Before I go any further, it's important that everyone understand that this meeting and its contents are strictly confidential. You are now party to a Class 7 internal investigation regarding hate crimes onboard a United Federation Starship and all proceedings until and possibly beyond the closing of this investigation are classified. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," the entire room spoke in unison, now highly curious as to what they would be shown next.

"Lt. Yetoveah's concern is legitimate," Kirk deliberately sought the eyes of every non-human in attendance. "For reasons I am about to disclose, however, it has become clear that _at present_ Mr. Spock is currently the main focus of this assault." Carefully, he placed the sensor in the center of the table, "First, this is a sensor that Mr. Chekov found attached to the micro-processor. It was programmed to detect Vulcan life signatures only. Upon recognition of these signatures, it triggered an overload in the shield, which was not merely designed to overload the electrical systems, as you're about to see."

Once he saw that this information was being digested, he continued, "Now," he said as he placed a holo-emitter on the table and pressed the activation button, displaying Spock's burned abdomen for all to see. Kirk risked a glance in Spock's direction as another stunned gasp from the gathered crew filled the room; even the bridge crew was agape, as the only one of them to have seen this image previous to the meeting was Chekov, as he had been onsite to investigate the malfunction. It took every ounce of control Jim possessed not to reach out and lay a comforting hand upon Spock's shoulder.

He had asked Spock that morning if he was okay with Jim sharing the photo during the briefing, out of respect for his First's privacy. Spock had taken the holo-emitter from his Captain's hand and placed it aside, along with their ranks for just a moment. He then ran two fingers down the side of Jim's face in a Vulcan caress, before pulling his lover into his embrace and placing a loving, human kiss to his forehead, "While I appreciate your concern for my emotional well-being, Jim," he spoke softly into blonde hair, "It is logical to show the image as a means to express the violent nature of the individual responsible for the assaults."

Jim had given Spock a good squeeze before leaning back to meet chocolate brown eyes, "You're amazing," he smiled. Their lips met for a chaste kiss before they each let go, placing the customary three feet between them and resuming their roles as Captain and Commander. "Well, that's settled then," Jim had then picked up the digital file containing the materials for today's meeting and taken a preparatory breath. "Let's get this over with."

Tucking the urge to comfort his new lover safely away for later, Jim then placed the stone from the first attack onto the table. "As you can see, the attacker's intended victim of the security shield is clear." Not waiting for any possible interruption, he then placed the stone onto the table, "The most important piece of evidence, however, is that this is not the first attack on Mr. Spock." An enhanced image of the stone appeared on the screen behind the Captain. He wanted everyone to see the message that had been engraved onto its surface. "Nine days ago, in the greenhouse, our attacker used a transporter to fling this stone at the Commander, destroying a monitor and causing Mr. Spock to suffer from several facial lacerations."

Giotto then placed three different mini data storage devices beside the other pieces of evidence, "These contain subroutines the individual used to violate our computer systems on the morning Mr. Spock was first assaulted. The perpetrator downed several security cameras on several decks to give the appearance of a random system failure." Giotto motioned to the rock, "However, the transporter room used for the stone as well as the lab containing the ship's greenhouse were both on the list of areas with downed cameras."

Commander Spock, having been silent up to this point, finally spoke, "The subroutine hack signatures found in the transporter room match those found in the security shield, which is why we believe the individual responsible is working alone, using a non-registered mobile device." He then paused before adding, "Furthermore, video footage suggests that the suspect activated the program by entering a numerical code on the panel's keypad moments before the power surge which indicates the suspect's knowledge of my location previous to the event."

Ensign Chekov spoke in confirmation, "Furthermore, after a ship-vide scan of all security shield outlets, sewenteen ozher dewices were found."

Giotto placed another holo on the table, "This image was captured just before Mr. Spock came in range of the outlet that almost killed him." He activated the image, and then continued, "We believe he may have caught sight of the Commander while he was in or as he exited Sickbay. These devices were placed in areas that Mr. Spock frequents daily as a part of his routine. This means our perp was waiting for an opportunity where both he and Mr. Spock would be in close proximity to his traps so that he could key the code to activate the triggers…and possibly…watch." Giotto's words were met with horrified stares, quickly interrupted by the First Officer's next words.

"The suspect possesses a deep understanding of Electrical Engineering, Transporter Physics and Computer Science," Spock explained. "Many of you share personnel between departments and therefore any number of you could be familiar with the perpetrator."

"We don't know what other skills this guy has," Giotto picked up Spock's lead, "so we need your help identifying people in your departments that match the features of the individual in this image."

Giotto gestured to the holo on the table, which was taken from behind, leaving the perp's face a mystery, "Our suspect is a human male, approximately five foot eleven and one hundred and sixty five pounds. He has dark hair and a small scar," he enlarged the image on the view screen," on his right wrist, just above the joint bone."

Kirk switched off the screen, "I don't want you interrogating anyone in your departments."

Spock nodded as his fingers came together to form a steeple, "It is important to not cause paranoia within the suspect, as this could lead to heightened violence should he attempt to carry out another attack."

The gathered heads and bridge crew were nodding in comprehension, all thinking the same thing. They needed to find this guy, _fast._ The level of violence and sadism displayed indicated that this person was incredibly unstable and a potential danger to every member of the crew and the vessel itself. Especially since the latest attack triggered the yellow alert by making the computer think there was a potential internal hull breech. "Whaddya, need us t'do, Capt'n?" Scotty asked, finally peeling his eyes away from the disturbing images on display atop the briefing table.

"I want you to discreetly observe anyone that works or comes and goes within your departments that match the description of the suspect," Kirk ordered.

Uhura raised her hand, ever the professional. "Yes, Lieutenant," Kirk gave her the floor.

"I could write a program and implement it within the ship's communications system to pick up on key words used in vid calls and log recordings," she volunteered. "See if our perp was dumb enough to have mentioned his plans to someone off ship or to the computer. That is, if I could get some help from Engineering."

"Aye," Scott nodded, liking her way of thinking. "I could help ye with that."

"Fantastic," Kirk agreed. "How long would it take your program to scan communications from the entire month?"

"Once the Lieutenant has written the script, my boys'll impl'ment it right away" the Chief Engineer rubbed his chin in contemplation, "…should only take our fair lady's computer…_eh_…10 hours?...to perform scans back to thirty days."

"Good. I want you to start on the code immediately following this meeting, Uhura," Kirk ordered.

"Yes, sir," she nodded, determined to find this guy before he had another chance at hurting Spock…or worse.

Kirk went on to delegate more orders to his head crew, telling Chekov to run more scans for non-standard wiring and hardware throughout the ship. He also ordered all department heads to run inventory on all materials, "He's getting his supplies—the wires, the micro chips—from somewhere and it's not the replicators—we've checked." He also ordered McCoy to provide a list of all patients and visitors that were in Sickbay the day of Spock's attack.

"I'll have it sent to you and Giotto after the meetin'," McCoy complied, also determined to find this prick as soon as possible.

"Chapel," Kirk drew the nurse's attention. "I couldn't help but notice that you're something of a social butterfly."

The head nurse blushed slightly at the observation. Christine Chapel was well-known and well-loved by just about everyone onboard. She was also quite in tune with all the ship's gossip. "Yes, Captain," her reply was quiet.

"I want you to keep an ear open when you're in the recs and the mess for any mentions of odd or inappropriate behavior," he directed.

"Yes, Captain," she nodded, stealing a brief glimpse at the Commander. She couldn't believe anyone would want to hurt Mr. Spock. She looked between the Captain and the Commander as Jim brought the meeting to a close. Whoever this man was, he obviously had no idea the kind of storm he was attracting to himself. Everyone on board knew that the Captain took the safety and security of his crew very seriously and _everyone_ knew that Kirk was especially protective of Mr. Spock. No, this dumbass obviously didn't have clue, but Christine knew: Hell hath no fury like an overprotective lover on the warpath. Kirk was about to clean house.

Meanwhile, back on Earth at Starfleet Headquarters in San Diego, California, Admiral James Komack was staring at the psychological evaluation of Theodore J. Matthews, son of Lieutenant Elizabeth Katherine, and Lieutenant Commander Scott Emerson Matthews of the destroyed Federation Starship Farragut. Both had been fine Starfleet officers and both had been close friends of Komack for many years. They had been very proud of their son, Ted, who had entered the academy two years before the Nero Crisis.

The now _Ensign_ Matthews had been one of the many cadets left orphaned by the havoc wrought by Nero's attack at Vulcan, destroying the ship on which both his parents had been serving. The kid was brilliant, excelling in all things math and science. When he graduated from the Academy, eight months ago, Komack had not been surprised to know that Captain Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_ had accepted Matthews' application to serve in the geological science department on board his ship. The Admiral had thought that it was perhaps one of the few decisions he and the young Captain could have agreed upon.

As he looked at the file before him, he shook his head in stark disappointment, before reading the details of the Class 7 Investigation now taking place aboard aforementioned young Captain's vessel. Matthews' evaluation was the only one of all the _Enterprise's_ crew that Komack had found that contained any sort of red flag regarding xenophobia, specifically in attitudes toward Romulans and Vulcans. "Green-bloods?" the Ensign had called them when replying to one of the interviewers questions near the end of his assessment.

"Green-bloods?" The interrogators voice repeated, reacting to the Ensign's choice of slang, most typically used when referring to Vulcans and Romulans within a derogatory context.

Matthews ignored the question in favor of answering the prior the query, "I guess I think they're pretty similar. I mean, they share a common ancestry, don't they?"

The interrogator made a note of the Ensign's avoidance before deciding to continue with the interview's original question, "Yes, but Vulcans are our allies, peace-seeking individuals while the Romulans remain quite antagonistic toward the Federation, their violence toward several federation members quite prolific," he paused for a breath. "Yet you believe them to be similar based solely on the color of their blood?"

"No," clarified the Ensign, obviously catching on. "It's not that they have the same color blood, it's that it originated from the same place. I'm only concerned—like a lot of other people are—that now that their planet is gone, the Vulcans might begin to regress to pre-Surak tendencies."

In the video, Matthews leans forward, "I mean, there have already been several reports of Vulcan refugees on Earth erupting into violent fits of rage. Even going so far as to rape one another. Now, _that's_ barbaric."

"I see," the interrogator's voice was completely devoid of inflection as he spoke. "Since you seem to be inferring to the episodes of Pon Farr experienced by several Vulcan males as the result of severed bonds with their deceased mates, then I must assume that you are also versed on the Vulcan biology that caused this disruption of the usual behavior patterns of Vulcans—that you understand the mental instability experienced by a telepathic species, caused by the loss of over six billion of their collective. You are familiar with the connections Vulcans share between the members of their society, Mr. Matthews?"

"I've heard of it—"

"Then you must understand that these 'violent fits of rage' as you called them are the result of severing six billion telepathic ties in the span of minutes combined with the loss, for many of these refugees, of the very deep telepathic links between parental, sibling and spousal bonds?" The interviewer questioned. "That these crimes were not committed knowingly, but in fact, by individuals suffering from what amounts to a severe psychotic break?

The Ensign sighed heavily, "Look, I'm not trying to say that Vulcans are just like Romulans. I know that they've never done anything but help the Federation and all its members, but that doesn't change the fact that right now at least, they're definitely less trustworthy than they were before Nero."

"Is that a personal view or one that you feel is shared by others?" Came the immediate question.

"I know I'm not the only one that feels that way—"

"Your parents were victims of Nero, were they not?" The interrogator did not give the Ensign time to complete an answer.

"Yes," The Ensign's eyes had gone cold and his voice was a vehement whisper.

"Do you think there's any chance that you are projecting the wrongs committed by Nero onto the Vulcan refugees, whom you feel are capable of similar violence? That perhaps the loss of your parents at the hands of a 'green-blood' as you called them, has made you at least somewhat xenophobic toward Vulcans as well as Romulans?"

"No, I'm not _xenophobic_," the Ensign practically spat back. "I'm _legitimately concerned_ for the safety of all citizens of the Federation, including the Vulcans and their mental instability, after what that bastard did! I'm not saying the Vulcans are going to lose their shit tomorrow and start attacking everyone in sight—but they _are _four times stronger than humans and just about every other member species of the Federation and they _are_ suffering from instability."

At this point, Ensign Matthews got up from his seat and began to pace, "I happen to think that's an explosive combination and that people should just be a little more cautious that's all. I mean, at the rate they're all joining Starfleet, who's to stop these guys from losing it while they're out in space? Do we just _trust them_ when they tell us they're all okay now? Hell, six months ago, none of us even knew what Pon Farr was, let alone half the shit they've told us in recent months about these supposed bonds. What _else_ are they hiding?"

"There's no need to become excited, Ensign Matthews. You're not on trial here," the interrogator soothed. He then switched the topic, but not before flagging Matthew's evaluation under 'needs more review.' Komack had received the evaluation and even though several xenophobic indicators were present within the interview, the Admiral had approved it—as a favor for two long-dead friends and with the hopes that being surrounded by different species, space and under the tutelage the most decorated half-Vulcan officer the fleet had to offer, that perhaps Matthews' opinions would change. He knew now that there was a great possibility that he had made a huge error in judgment. If releasing the psych evaluations of the _Enterprise's _crew became unavoidable, then Komack's initials were tied to Matthews and to any actions the Ensign may or may not be accountable for.

Switching off his screen, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, _this is the last time I stick my neck out for anyone_—_dead, dying or grieving._

Theodore, or Ted, as he was commonly known by his colleagues and friends, watched from his seat in the mess as Captain Kirk and Commander Spock took their seats, trays in hand, at a table off by the observation window. It was only thirty minutes into Beta shift and most of Alpha was taking their dinner, the two commanding officers included.

Ted had heard the rumors swirling around the ship regarding the relationship between Kirk and Spock, but he didn't believe them. Kirk's reputation had been legendary at the academy and the Captain's affinity for the female sex was well known. There was no way Kirk would boink someone as unattractive as Spock anyway. The half-breed was too uptight, too stern and far too Vulcan in appearance to be considered attractive by Kirk standards—and Ted knew what those standards were, along with everyone else on board—thin, busty and long-legged.

Now, what he didn't doubt was Spock's attraction to the Captain. Kirk was the only one Spock didn't condescend to in conversation. He was also _always_ there, at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Every time Matthews had ever had occasion to be on the bridge, if the green-blood wasn't pouring over his station, he was standing behind Kirk's chair, like some kind of doting puppy. To Ted, this was open proof of Spock's instability and the ultimate danger he represented. If it was so obvious to everyone that Spock was in love with the Captain, then he obviously wasn't as in control of his emotions—his Vulcan heritage—as he'd have everyone believe.

What would happen, Ted wondered, if Spock entered his Pon Farr, having such feelings for the Captain? Would Kirk find himself the most recent victim of a Pon Farr rape? Spock was several times stronger than everyone else on board and held the second highest ranking position on the ship. If he decided to attack Kirk, there'd be no saving the Captain. Of course, it'd be the Captain's own fault for trusting a green-blood to be Second in Command in the first place. Allowing the Vulcan into his cabin, unsupervised and everything.

Apparently, he was the only one on board with enough sense to realize the threat their commanding officer represented. The day that Spock had reprimanded him for supervising Ensign Teloveh's work in Geological Sciences was proof that he was bias toward aliens too. He obviously thought that he and the Andorian were superior to humans. There weren't _that_ many errors in his work and Ted knew that if he had been able to get a proper look at Teluveh's work, he'd probably find a ton of mistakes. Spock was obviously trying to cover for her by drawing attention to Matthews—using him as a scapegoat so his fellow alien could get ahead and make Lieutenant before the rest of them.

No, the Commander couldn't be trusted. He was dangerous and Matthews intended to do something about it before the green-blood lost it and put the whole ship at risk. It was too bad that Vulcans were able to withstand higher amounts of amperage than humans during an electric shock, or Ted wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. Spock would be dead and everyone else would be safe. It was just another reason to be annoyed at Spock's mixed heritage. It was hard to tell which parts of his biology were more human or more Vulcan. The poison Matthews had slipped into Spock's tray—his first attempt at ridding the _Enterprise_ of the dangerous Vulcan—had absolutely no effect whatsoever. He was pretty sure Spock hadn't even noticed anything off about his meal. It was then that Matthews had realized he may have to be blunter, maybe he could scare the half-Vulcan into leaving peacefully.

Using his own algorithm to program the transporter to literally throw that stone at Spock's head was successful in getting inside the Vulcan's attention; however, Spock had not immediately requested a transfer as expected. Ted should have known it wouldn't have worked. Of course the green-blood wouldn't leave the _Enterprise_, not while Captain Kirk was her commander. So, it was back to the original plan of simply killing the bastard. He'd gotten the amperage wrong on the shield outlets, and now Engineering and Boy Genius, Chekov, had removed all of his micro-processors from the rest of the outlets he'd infiltrated.

He had underestimated Spock's durability. He wouldn't make that mistake again. _No,_ he thought to himself, as the Captain and Commander finished their meals and made their way to the exit, _I'll make sure to use enough of the mineral so all that's left of Spock's thick Vulcan hide is a pile of ash. I'll make sure this ship is safe…it's what mom and dad would have wanted. _

"Come," Giotto answered the chime at his quarters, happy to see Marionette bouncing through the doorway, in that way she had about her. "Mary," he greeted, abandoning his reports and meeting his girlfriend in the center of the room. "I thought you were too busy with your flowers to have dinner tonight."

"I was," she chirped, putting her arms loosely around Barry's neck, "but Mr. Sulu changed the schedule. We had _inventory_ today, which is totally boring, by the way."

Giotto smiled, but made no comment. It was a burden of his job sometimes not being able to converse freely about his position on the ship, to know so much about the _Enterprise_ that something as mundane as inventory was now part of a highly confidential investigation that he was currently heading. So instead of filling in Marionette as to exactly why she was doing inventory, he simply gave the Orion beauty a peck on the nose, "That sucks, sweetie."

"Yeah," she shrugged, bringing their lips together in a promising kiss. "But at least now I've got some spare time to spend with my very big, very strong man."

"Mmmm, baby," Giotto purred, "You know I like it when you admire my muscle." He then playfully pushed her away so he could flex for her.

Marionette threw her head back and laughed. She adored this human. You would never guess by looking at him, but Barry had the best sense of humor and he was unfailingly sweet—finding her all manner of gifts when they visited various planets and starbases, pulling her seat out at the table for her, offering his elbow to her when they went for walks and always letting her set the pace in their physical relationship. As an Orion, Marionette was typically expected to not only kiss on the first date, but to pretty much do anything from give head to participate in a gang bang right after dinner. It was insulting. Barry was…he treated her like a _lady_ and saw her as an equal—a contributing and valuable member of Starfleet. He was an absolute doll.

"Stop it, you," she placed her hands on his very muscular forearms, ceasing his embarrassing display. "Tell me how your appointment with Dr. Headshrink went."

Barry let out a disappointed sigh, "Do we have to talk about it now? I wanted to take you for a walk—show off my girl.

"Uh-huh," Mary smirked, pushing Barry down onto the couch, then seating herself with her thighs spread, each knee coming to rest on either side of her boyfriend's legs. She then leaned forward, so that her substantial breasts rested nicely against Giotto's collarbone. She licked his lips teasingly before backing off, making sure to rub her sex against the growing bulge in Barry's pants, "Just tell me what she said and I'll give you a treat."

Barry smiled into the eyes of this beautiful being that for some reason decided he deserved her affection, "You don't have to give me 'treat' to get me to talk." He kissed her pretty green nose, "All you have to do is smile and anything you want to know, it's yours." That wasn't completely true, but so long as the information she wanted to know wasn't classified, the statement was applicable. Such was the case with his stress management therapy.

Marionette's response was to start placing little kisses down Barry's neck, starting at his ear and ending the junction of his shoulder, where she sucked what would probably be an impressive hickey into his skin. "Do tell," she whispered, yanking his shirt over his head and throwing it behind the couch.

"Doc thinks I have PTSD from the whole Nero crisis," he confessed before burying his face in Mary's cleavage, loving the soft, but firm texture of her skin, so different than that of a human's. Damn, but it was delicious. "Says I'm not as bad off as some of the other people suffering from it, but that I should try to surround myself with people I care about and participate in more of my favorite activities."

Marionette smirked seductively as she pulled her shirt over her head. Barry had already unclasped her bra and it too met the floor with her blouse. Her verdant breasts sprung loose, bouncing heavily. Giotto let out a moan of desperate lust, as his mouth came down to one of the pinkish-green nipples and sucked. Mary threw head back, her hips thrusting for friction between their cloth-covered groins. She moved a hand down and unclasped the button of her boyfriend's trousers. Panting heavily with Orion arousal, she managed to tease, "Do I get to guess what those favorite activities might be?"

"Maybe," he muttered as he licked a path from nipple, down the round curve of breast, between the valley, up the another curve until it found another nipple, circling once before he closed his mouth over it. "Shouldn't be too hard."

"Oh…" An aching throb resonating from her centre was begging to be filled with Barry's still clothed cock. "Barry, please…I want…"

"God, you're so beautiful," Barry praised, pulling his lover's lips down for a kiss. "You don't have to beg me for anything. You can have whatever you want, baby. It's all yours."

Mary was feeling overwhelmed, as she usually did when she and Barry were making love. He said the damnedest things, made her feel so…_special_. With a feral growl, she attacked his lips, her hormone suppressor apparently not powerful enough when it came to Barry. She grabbed his pants and boxers by the waist and yanked them down, pulling off her own clothes before remounting her human. The feeling of their skin meeting dragged wanton moans from both of them. Then, her mouth was everywhere.

Barry could do very little other than sit back and allow her to pour her sexuality all over him. When she was turned on like this, her hormones had somewhat a euphoric effect on his human brain. Everywhere they touched felt like silk on water. He could only watch as her beautiful, full pink lips enclosed over the head of his cock, the feeling so powerful it was all he could not to die on the spot. Her tongue was so silky, her mouth so wet and the suction so good…He knew her pussy would feel even better. It'd be like coming home when he entered her…it always did.

"Oh, Christ, Mary…" He moaned, "Ride me, baby, please."

Marionette's core was a constant dull ache now, screaming to be filled, her Orion clit, larger than a human female's, was throbbing for contact. Her breasts were heaving with her labored breath, their nipples tight, hard and straining painfully for more of Barry's mouth. She could resist no longer, slowly dragging her hands up Barry's calves, thighs, her body following as she lifted her hips tantalizingly from the floor and sliding over the security chief's thighs. Finally, her sex hovered inches above his thick, long cock, already leaking from the tip at the feel of the moist heat pouring down upon it from above.

Barry pulled a painfully erect nipple into his mouth, causing Marionette to completely lose it. She drove her body down, taking her lover's full cock all the way inside and rocked forward. The pressure against her clit causing her to cry out as Giotto continued to lathe her breasts. He moaned around her nipple, "Ah…" he panted, "Ah, Mary, yes…ride me…feel…feel so good."

Mary hummed her agreement but she wanted more…more of this man inside her. She pulled a human hand to her mouth, sucking fingers as she rocked her hips, riding Barry's cock like he were some kind of terran equestrian. "Yes, fuck me…" she begged. "Fuck me with your huge cock," her breasts hopped merrily as she bounced up and down on his dick. She pulled Barry's saliva-soaked hand to the cleft of her ass, "Put 'em inside me….please, _please_…"

Barry couldn't deny her anything, not when her wet, silky heat was wrapped around penis and her full, perky breasts were bouncing in his face. Scooting forward, and pulled her flush against him, Barry pushed two fingers in at once, knowing this was how she liked it, just this side of rough. He knew he was making her wild when she let loose another growl, as he pumped his cock in and out in time with the motion of his fingers in her hole.

With a loud, "Yes!" escaping her lips, Marionette was riding a tidal wave of unmitigated bliss.

Barry felt her pussy convulse around his shaft as Mary climaxed and he was done, his cock throbbing as it spilt his seed inside her. He rocked with her as they slowly came down, Mary's hormones receding and Barry somehow finding his way back from the Utopian high she had given him. "I luff you," he panted, his cock softening, but still nestled inside Mary's wet heat.

Marionette smiled into his neck, enjoying the feel of him just resting within her body. "I love you, too, Barry." She leaned back and kissed his lips, "I didn't mean to get you high," she apologized, looking into his dilated pupils.

"It's 'kay," he assured, his tongue feeling very thick and heavy, a common side effect of exposure to copious amounts of Orion hormones. When they said Orions could fuck you stupid, it wasn't a joke. "Wann' stay?"

"I always want to stay," she patted his head, cuddling closer. She let out a contented sigh, "I always feel so safe with you, Security Chief."

Barry attempted to rub her back comfortingly, "Thass cuz you know I'll p'tect you."

"Mmm-hmm," she hummed. She rolled her eyes thinking suddenly of the xenophobe running around the ship, "From xenophobes and control freaks, alike?"

"Mmm-hmmm…" he started to drift off, then suddenly he jerked upright, catching Mary before she almost fell to the floor, "What did you say?" He post-coital high was obliterated.

His girlfriend stared back at him in utter confusion, "Huh?"

"Xenophobes and control freaks?" He questioned, "Did someone say something to you? Were you threatened?"

Barry's intensity was starting to freak her out a little, it always did when he went into super-cop mode, "No and no," She held up her hands in an attempt to calm him. "I was just reminded of the weirdo running around the ship trying to kill Spock."

"How the **Hell** do you know about _that_?" Giotto asked, incredulous.

Mary blushed, "I heard…" she stuttered nervously, her demeanor shy, "I heard some of his subordinates talking the other day, that's all."

Barry took several calming breaths, something he had recently learned from his counselor, the smiled reassuringly at the woman in his arms; sorry that he had frightened her. It had taken a lot of wooing and reassuring on his part to gain Marionette's trust. As an Orion female, Mary had undergone discrimination and harassment in her years on Earth and at the Academy. There was a misconception that Orion women were little better than whores, always ready for whatever partner could satisfy their body's sexual desires but Mary had attracted Giotto with her sharp wit and sweet demeanor.

He'd met a lot scum bags in his line of work and Mary was living proof that decency still existed. Of course, he'd been immediately physically attracted to her as well, but one night stands weren't his thing. When he wanted someone, he wanted them long-term and exclusively. Fortunately for him, Marionette shared this sentiment and he'd be damned if he was going to scare her off with his over-protective surliness, "I'm sorry, Sweetheart, I didn't mean to scare you," he said with a kiss to her forehead. "You just caught me off guard. No one is supposed to know that Mr. Spock is being targeted by a Xenophobe."

Mary nodded her understanding, "It's okay," she accepted his apology easily, then smiled sweetly, "I haven't told anyone else what I heard."

Barry licked his lips, his heart beating with the instinct that he was about to learn something important, "And what is it you heard, exactly?"

Marionette sighed and settled into her lover's arms, telling him everything the geosciences nerds had told her two days ago.

A/N: Thank you to all following the story and a big thank you to Arch-Nemesis for pointing out a few errors in Chapter 4. Fixes have been made. I should have the rest of the story posted by the end of next week.


	7. Chapter 7

The quiet that overtook the ship during Gamma shift was viewed by many of the _Enterprise _crew as calming. If one found themselves wandering the corridors of the lower decks at 0200 ship time, the feeling one got was a mix of peace and trepidation. While the calmness that blanked the halls during this time could be relaxing, it could also raise the hairs upon one's neck. Silence could be loudly unsettling at times.

Ensign Matthews, of course, had never felt anything but relaxed during these times, though he'd heard several of his colleagues complain of it being creepy. He had always reminded his co-workers that security cameras on the ship were monitored 24/7 by the ships main computer as well as the security team. If something decided to jump out of a supply closet at one of them, it would be phasered on the spot. Of course, this would make everyone laugh and admit their own silliness.

As he made his way to the shuttle babys, his thoughts were on those security cameras and just how long it would take the computer system to alert personnel to breech he had caused with the feed loop now running on every camera onboard. There would be a four hour gap before main computer caught on—right at the start of Alpha shift. _He_ was that something in the supply closet tonight and he had no intention of being 'phased on the spot.' There was a job to do, he thought as he watched security leave their posts outside the bay entrance for the shift change.

Seeing his opportunity when the guards rounded the corner, Ted sprinted toward the entrance, hacked the panel with gloved fingers and slipped inside. He then crossed the floor to the _Galileo._ Commander Spock would be assisting Engineering with maintenance on this shuttle, among others, tomorrow afternoon. _A perfect opportunity, _he thought as he disengaged the celluloid chamber lock that held the craft's small warp engine.

He pulled a syringe from his work pack, taking a long look at the masterpiece he had created. Ted had managed, over the course of only three days, to identify the chemicals within the mineral that caused its volatile reaction to heat. He synthesized the new compounds and from them created this liquid agent. It was highly reactionary and very powerful. With the extremely volatile fluid injected into the shuttle's pre-warp coil, once the warp drives were activated in simulation, it would only take three point eight minutes for the reaction to occur. Commander Spock would be standing right in front of the chamber, taking readings and analyzing the status of the shuttle when it would happen. No one would be able to identify the cause of the 'accident,' but Ensign Matthew would know that it was him that had guaranteed the safety of all his co-workers and colleagues by finally putting down the dangerous half-breed.

_Yes, _he thought, double checking the area to make sure he had left behind no evidence. Tonight he would be able to rest easily, knowing that the resident green-blood was soon to be splattered across the very floor upon which he now stood.

Candles: _Check. _Dinner: _Check._ Laundry off the floor: _Check _and, Jim eyed the main room then peered around the divider into his sleeping area, _Check. _Flowers: _None in sight—Good. Check. _Music: …_Oh Yeah…_

Jim flipped on Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata to play softly over the speakers. _There, _perfect—Only…now that he thought about what he was doing, the Captain of the _Enterprise _was feeling more than just a little silly. What if Spock didn't like it? Jim had never really tried the whole romantic dinner thing before and he wasn't really sure this would fly with his half-Vulcan lover. The two of them had kind of flung themselves into the deep end, falling into bed _before_ the first date, hell there hadn't even been a 'Do you like me: check yes or no' note. Maybe this was too much…too soon? How do you start back at the beginning when you've already met the physical ends?

He and Spock hadn't really had time for a repeat performance of two nights ago, with all the reports coming in for the investigation and the meeting this morning. They'd barely had any time to really talk and last night Jim had planned on inviting Spock to stay the night when the Vulcan had excused himself to meditate. Conflicted, he let his eyes sweep over the room. Maybe Jim should have just set up the chess board and…right as he was about to command off the music and ditch the candles, the chime sounded.

With a groan of defeat in acknowledgement that he was probably about to face the most humiliating experience of his adult life, Jim accepted his fate. _It's too late now,_ he thought before calling at Spock to enter. Trying to act natural, Jim leaned against the table as he watched Spock's infamous eyebrow lift appraisingly of the situation. The Vulcan's face was unreadable as he first glanced at the ceiling, taking note of the music, then the table where lit candles illuminated a vegetarian pasta. Finally, in his nervousness, when Spock's gaze landed on him, Jim misplaced his foot trying to nonchalantly cross his legs at the ankle from where he was still leaning against the dinner table. Unfortunately, his misstep caused him to lose his balance as his ass slid unexpectedly across the freshly polished side of the table, his legs catching and sending him into a very un-manly, definitely _not_ smooth heap upon the floor, a muffled '_shit,' _just barely escaping his lips before face made contact with the carpet.

Spock quickly made his way to Jim's aid, as was his tendency to do, his lip tilted upward slightly while his eyes dance with mirth, "Jim?"

Jim rolled onto his back when he felt Spock's warm hand on his shoulder. "Hey," he grinned as he pulled his hands under his head, as if it were completely normal for him to be lying on the floor with a knot on his head. "Would you like to join me for dinner?"

"Perhaps, although," Spock's non-smile had disappeared and his face was blank as ever as he lectured, "I find the way in which you choreographed this setting by which to invite me to dinner…illogical. Why use candles—certainly a fire hazard—when one can simply dim the lights? The music too, while likely quite subtle to your human ears, might be described as overwhelming to Vulcan auditory standards."

Jim felt disappointment well up from within, but pushed it aside and settled on being annoyed instead, sitting up in defense, "I was _**trying**_ to be _romantic_, but I guess I should have known bett—"  
>He was interrupted by Vulcan lips and tongue as they plundered his mouth and lowered him back down to the floor. Strong hands rubbed his hands up down the length of Jim's torso, blazing a path from thighs to upper back, over and over. Finally, Spock pulled his lips from Jim's and breathed into his human's ear, "My mother would have said that love <em>is<em> illogical. That it makes the reasonable, unsound and the mundane, worthwhile."

Vulcan hands came to rest on either side of Jim's face, stroking lightly at the temples, "I would like to show you…" the fingers of his right hand came to rest on Jim's meld points. Blue eyes widened before Jim nodded his head in assent. Then, like water lapping at the shore, Jim was filled with emotions not his own. He saw his quarter's from Spock's perspective when the Vulcan had first come inside, then he felt surprise, excitement, gratitude and finally, when Jim saw himself leaning against the table, _love, joy…devotion._ He was just beginning to feel an intense wave of amusement at his trip to the floor, when Spock's mind carefully parted from his own. "Whoa," he panted, somehow out of breath. "That was awesome." He looked down at his waist to confirm his suspicion, he cock was achingly hard. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow, "Wha…?"

"Indeed, I found your illogical display of romanticism quite pleasing," Spock leaned in for another slow, sweet kiss before leaning back and offering Jim his hand. "May I be of assistance, Captain?" His voice was openly suggestive, fully aware the effect of the light meld on Jim's physiology.

Kirk shook his head to clear it, then his gaze met with warm-as-honey eyes, "Why thank you, Commander," Jim's voice was pure sex, his Kirkian grin firmly in place. "I always appreciate a second set of hands," he leaned in close to nibble an earlobe, "_yours especially..." _his hands slid into Spock's waistband, grabbing at the gorgeous mounds beneath, "_your hands…specifically…exclusively."_

"Jim…" was all the warning Spock gave his lover before lifting Jim into his arms, legs instinctively wrapping around Vulcan hips to keep from falling to the floor—_again._

Jim's romantic date was summarily forgotten as they made their way to the bedroom. "Stay with me after," Jim managed between kisses. "_Please_."

Spock lowered Jim to the mattress, the human's legs still wrapped around Spock's middle and he took a moment to just look at his lover as he hovered above, mere centimeters apart, his love clearly on display. He wanted Jim to see it and remember it, "There is very little that could persuade me to do otherwise, ashaya."

"Damn, I hate Fridays," Giotto groaned to himself from behind his desk. Not only had he just finished four emergency witness interviews, but another breech had been discovered right at the beginning of his shift. The security cameras—ship wide—had been hacked at 0120 this morning, during the beginning of Gamma shift, playing a constant loop of footage for six hours. The same signature, used by whatever unregistered device used on the first breech, had been present. This meant that their resident xenophobe had likely already set up his next move, which was why Barry's morning was so utterly swamped.

After yesterday's meeting, he'd had a very interesting conversation with his girlfriend about a rather perturbed Ensign. Apparently Spock had rubbed this guy wrong by dressing him down in front of an entire department. What was even more interesting was the reason behind the Ensign's reprimand. Matthews had been being borderline harassing to an Andorian crewmember that was working alongside him that day.

Being a 'control freak' with the Andorian didn't necessarily make him a xenophobe, but Spock's reprimand at least gave him a motive. It was unfortunate that their perp, if it was Matthews, hadn't been dumb enough to record anything in the ship's log or talk about his plans off-ship, as the keyword scan Lt. Uhura had programmed had been unsuccessful. On the bright side, however, the information he'd gleaned from the interviews with Matthews' colleagues had only leant support to that which Giotto's gut was already telling him. Giotto had just sent the formal request for the ensign's psych evals, and was waiting for the file transmission from Starfleet Headquarters. Hopefully, they'd find something useful and he could arrest this fucker and detain him for questioning. Find out what he'd been up to between the hours of 0120 and 0600 ship time this morning.

"Lieutenant Cass to Security Chief Giotto," The Security Chief's desk unit sounded.

"Cass," Giotto immediate jumped on the receiver. "Have you got a twenty on Matthews?"

"Yes, sir," Cass replied. "He's in Materials Science Lab 19."

"Keep you post," Giotto ordered. "Stay within visual but don't alert him to your presence."

"Yes, sir."

Giotto's voice sounded over the Security Department speaker as he called in three of his best officers, "Stewart. Johns. Cartier—report to my office immediately." Upon their arrival he handed them each a phaser, instructed them to set them to stun and to report to Cass, outside of Materials Lab 19 on deck four. "Your orders are to maintain a visual on the suspect until I tell you to move in. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." They replied in unison, before Giotto dismissed them and they disappeared into the corridor. Giotto turned to his desk unit and punched the bridge, "Security to bridge, Captain Kirk?"

"Kirk here, Lieutenant," the Captain's smooth tenor filled his office. Giotto had always found Kirk's ability to fill a room, just with sound of his voice, impressive. The man possessed a natural authority.

"We've got a lead and my team's already on the twenty," Giotto informed. "I'm waiting for a file from Starfleet H.Q., but you might want to come down and take a look at what we've already got."

"I'll be on my way in a moment," Kirk assured.

Before the signal was cut Giotto thought to ask, "Is Mr. Spock on the bridge right now?"

"Uh, no," the Captain supplied, his curiosity palpable. "He just left for Engineering. They're prepping for this afternoon's maintenance. Lieutenant Uhura and Ensign Chekov are also assisting. They went with him."

Giotto let out a breath of relief, "Understood. Giotto out." In order to keep their perp from being too careful, Spock had dropped the security detail. Still there was someone with him at all times, so that open opportunities for an attack would be few and far between. With Spock safely down in Engineering, surrounded by people _not_ on Giotto's suspect list was a good thing. Especially when the only name on the suspect list was 8 decks above where the Commander was headed. If Matthews was their guy and he stayed true to form, he'd want to be somewhere he could view his plan as it went into effect.

A chirp from his console made Giotto flinch to attention. Starfleet had just sent him his files. He was pulling up the video of Matthews' interview when the Captain entered his office. "What do you have for me, Chief?"

Barry motioned his Captain to join behind the desk, "I just got Matthews' psych evals for H.Q." Kirk nodded and pulled a chair around, taking a seat beside the Lieutenant before they hit the play button on the audio attachment sent with the file.

Admiral Chris Pike's voice sounded through the speakers on Giotto's terminal when they opened the attachment. "I just got these from conductor of the interviews with Mr. Matthews. You might find what he had to tell me rather interesting." Pike's voice paused for a moment, as if he were trying to recall the exact words, "He said there is only one crewmember currently onboard the _Enterprise _that was flagged for possible xenophobia during cadet evals and that he had recommended grief counseling as well as a secondary review before the cadet could be cleared for duty." There was an audible sigh, then, "Matthews was reviewed and approved two days later. No counseling, no formal board meeting—which what is _supposed_ to happen in this scenario. I'm working on finding out how he made it to a Starship without meeting the requirements set forth by the interviewer. I'll let you know when I find out who signed off on his assignment. Pike out."

Giotto and Kirk shared a foreboding look before playing the video of the interview. What they saw and heard was enough to convince them both that it was time to apprehend Matthews and bring him in for questioning. No sooner had Giotto's men been given the order to apprehend, Matthews than the red alert began to blare. The security team assigned to apprehend the suspect, were momentarily distracted as several occupants of the lab began to rush around as carried out procedure for onboard fires. When they were able to get a visual on Matthews' previous position, the Ensign was gone.

"Fire detected in Shuttle Bay 19," the computer sounded over the ship-wide loud speaker as Kirk and Giotto rushed to the turbo lift, along with several members of security's search and rescue personnel. "Fifty-six injuries detected: Forty-three minor, seven substantial four critical. Fatalities: Two. Medical personnel on site, validation code five-zero-Delta-nine, Doctor Leonard H. McCoy."

Kirk felt his throat close around the bile that crept up his throat. _Two dead_. **Son of a bitch**. Minutes later, Jim and Giotto were running through the doors, both taking up an extinguisher and running toward the burning _Galileo._ So focused was he on getting the flames contained for fear that the fire would spread, as it almost did several times, to other shuttles and explosive materials, that it wasn't until the computer brought the alert down to yellow when Jim realized Spock was nowhere in sight. Usually, the Vulcan was one of the first to report to any ship alert.

Eyes frantically combing the bay, where various medical personnel were spread out tending to the injured, Jim's eyes finally fell on the very face he had awoken to that morning. Except, Spock's face and uniform were covered with patches of soot, his hair in disarray, parts of it matted to his face by green blood, seeping through the gauze that was wrapped around his forehead. Worst of all, were his hands…burnt raw, as verdant tissue lay exposed to stifling air in the shuttle bay.

Time seemed to slow as he approached the prone figure of his First Officer…his friend…his _fucking everything_ lying on the bay floor. The noises and voices around him sounded disembodied as they shouted orders and questions amidst all the chaos.

"Dr. McCoy," Chapel shouted over her shoulder, "I've got the Commander stabilized."

McCoy was bandaging up Chief Engineer Scott, who was bleeding out from a nasty shoulder wound, caused by shrapnel from what had obviously been a powerful blast, "Get him the hell out of here and down to sickbay. We need to treat those burns immediately." Jim watched, detached as McCoy finished bandaging Scotty's arm. It was then that the doctor finally noticed the approaching Captain.

Bones took one look at Jim as the Captain knelt down beside his first officer, "_Shit."_ He muttered. "Jim," he called, making his approach, seeing the worry in Chapel's eyes. It was like Jim wasn't even seeing her, and to be honest, he probably wasn't.

Bones grabbed both of Jim's shoulders and shook. Hard. "Goddamn it, Jim, _SNAP OUT OF IT!"_

With a bodily jerk, alert blue eyes met the sharp brown of a determined McCoy, "He's got a concussion, five broken ribs, a broken nose, wrist and femur. Third degree burns to both hands," McCoy didn't sugar coat. "But he's alive, damn it, and he's gonna stay that way…So breathe."

Jim breathed. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Spock wasn't dead…but easily could have been. Suddenly, Jim's state of shock became all consuming, blood curdling fury. "Jim?" he heard Bones' concerned voice. He turned to toward the CMO, "Do what you need to do doctor."

Giotto had located his Captain and was now making a beeline toward them. "Giotto and I have some business to tend to."

Chapel and McCoy shared a concerned glance was their Captain walked away. Jim had been shaking in thinly veiled rage and the two of them were curious as to what kind of business, exactly, they were leaving to tend.

The second Giotto reached Kirk, he began sharing his suspicions, "This has our guy written all over it. I knew after the computer discovered that breech he was gonna take another shot." He punched a nearby wall, _"Goddamn it!"_

"Did your men arrest Matthews?" Kirk's voice was cold with the fury that he and Barry both shared.

Giotto took a deep, calming breath. Something his counselor had sad would work in situations like this—_lying bitch._ "The red alert made him aware of their presence and he beat it before they could," his words were leaking with disdain. "I've got them sweeping the ship, but the little fucker managed to remove his DNA signature from the computer so there's _no telling_ where the little bastard is hiding."

"Did you seal the transporter rooms and the other shuttle bays?" Jim asked as they made their way to the shuttle bay exit. He stopped at the threshold to spare another long glance at Spock, watching as McCoy and Chapel lifted him onto a bio-stretcher, his burnt hands now field dressed and covered, before the tucked a sheet securely around his form to ensure minimal movement during transport to sickbay.

Giotto's gaze followed the direction of his Captain's and he placed a comforting hand on Kirk's shoulder. "We'll find him, Jim," he assured. "And when we do, I'll make sure you get to be the one to loosen him up prior to interrogation."

Kirk's gaze met with Giotto's and gave a single nod in comprehension before they turned in unison and made their exit. There wasn't a place on this ship that Jim wasn't prepared to search to find this bastard. Not only had Matthews succeeded in almost taking out the entire Alpha shift of Engineering, killing two ensigns: Shaw and Lebrawn, Giotto had informed, but he had done so in another attempt to kill Spock. These were unforgiveable offenses, as far as Jim was concerned and if Giotto was willing to give Jim five minutes alone in an unmonitored room with the fucker responsible…then maybe Jim could _talk_ with the ensign and _show him the path to enlightenment. _

His fists clenching at his sides, Spock's disapproving eyebrow snaked its way into Jim's psyche. His mind now wandered into memories of last night, every sound Spock had made, every expression of those chocolate eyes as Jim entered the Vulcan's body for the first time. _Ghods,_ Jim thought as he was transported back in time. Jim had never seen passion the likes of which Spock had introduced him to last night. He'd laid Jim down on the mattress, they shed out of their clothes somewhere between kiss and caresses and Jim had found himself between Spock's inviting thighs.

His cock had been throbbing in longing as it stroked along the cleft of Spock's ass, oozing fluid in its path. "_Jim," _Spock was panting, "_I want you…please…come inside me…_" Jim had almost lost it just by preparing the Vulcan's entrance, but Spock had done that meld thing again then they were one. Jim was buried inside his Vulcan, body and soul, when the intensity of their passion had claimed them both. But that hadn't even been the best part. No…the best part had been falling asleep with the Vulcan wrapped up in his arms and then waking up to see those chocolate brown eyes staring back him with unfettered emotion.

It was overwhelming, the knowledge that he and he alone were allowed to see the depth of Spock's emotion. To know just how deep they ran and just how much of his Vulcan's love was reserved for only Jim. And now…Jim thought darkly…someone was trying to take that away from him. Jim shook the thoughts of last night away. He needed to keep a clear head—there was no telling what kind of ace Matthews might have up his sleeve. They needed to get back to security and regroup. They had a psychopath on the loose and it was about time they reined his ass in.

This was not how it was supposed to go. The maintenance checks on the _Galileo_ weren't supposed to begin for another three hours. It was only noon and it had been blown too soon. Ted was supposed to be off shift when it happened so he could monitor the explosion from the console in his quarters. He paced the expanse of floor between two containers in the back of the cargo bay. _They know…_his thoughts were panicked. The guards he had seen inside the Materials Lab had been looking right at him when the red alert sounded.

Perhaps that early ignition of the explosion had been a good thing. He wasn't in custody, at least. Perhaps he could hide until things quieted down a bit. Pulling out his personal tablet, he used a newly developed algorithm to hack into the security feed in shuttle bay 19. His eyes grew wide in disbelief as he saw the doctor wheeling an apparently injured but alive Mr. Spock through the bay exit. _No…_his mind began whirling with the improbabilities. He'd risked everything with this one—even injuring innocents for the opportunity to cleanse the _Enterprise _of that green-blooded bastard and yet he lives. Two others manage to bite it, but not Spock? _What the FUCK! _Did Vulcans have some kind of invincible force field emitting through their skin from their dirty fucking blood?

Angrily, he switched his video feed from the shuttle bay to the halls that led to sickbay. He watched as Spock was rushed through the doors, followed by five other stretchers carrying patients. Spock would pay for this, Matthews vowed to himself. The Captain and security already knew he was the one behind the attacks. It didn't matter now. Nothing did. He'd kill that fucking green-blooded bastard if it was the last fucking thing he did.


	8. Chapter 8

"How is he," Nyota Uhura approached a very tired Leonard McCoy as he was making his way to his office…his sanctuary from the chaos of the day.

Uhura watched sympathetically as Bones sank wearily into to his chair behind the desk, piled high with PADDs containing reports from the chaos that had been their afternoon. He gestured for her to take a seat, finally speaking when she was sitting across from him. "He's in a trance." He paused to reach under the desk and grab a bottle of whiskey, which he poured into what appeared to be a slightly used brandy snifter, "Once we managed to stabilize him," McCoy thought of the internal bleeding that had almost been too heavy to control. He hadn't been completely honest with the Captain earlier that day in the shuttle bay. Yes, Spock had suffered multiple breaks, but the broken ribs had managed to puncture a lung and another had only narrowly avoided reaching down and piercing the Commander's heart. "If he had been standing two feet closer to the source of the explosion, he'd be dead right now."

Uhura had visibly paled and the ebony tone of her face was now slightly ashen with the realization that she had almost lost one of her closest friends to a madman—_again_. "How long will he be under?"

"Of course you know all about Vulcan hoo-doo," McCoy replied dryly, then let out a relieved sigh. "He'll probably be out of it for a day or two."

"What about the rest of them," her eyes moved to the scene beyond the doctor's office windows, where every bed in the main sickbay was occupied, various pieces of equipment hooked up to each individual as Nurse Chapel and a dozen other medics made rounds.

"They're pretty banged up…" McCoy slammed back his second shot, "But they're stable. Most of 'em will be sleeping in their own beds come tomorrow afternoon and I'm sure Scotty'll be back to his warp engines within the week."

Nyota nodded her understanding as she took in the sight of the sleeping Engineer Chief from the other side of the glass. The usually smiling face was now drawn in fitful sleep, eyebrows knit in uncomfortable tension. It pained her to see so many of her colleagues and friends suffering and more so to know that two of them were now forever lost to the universe. The vast emptiness of space had never seemed as hollow as in that moment. Her throat closed tightly around a lump of sadness as she looked back to the doctor. Uhura then voiced her concern on another matter entirely, "Where's the Captain? He never came back to the bridge."

"Jim," McCoy's eyes darkened as Kirk's name sounded from his lips in a gruff exhalation, knowing exactly where the Captain was at the moment. "He's organizing with Giotto, trying to find the bastard responsible for all this," his hand waved back toward the sickbay and its occupants.

Nyota looked uncertain for a moment, as if she wanted to ask something, but wasn't sure if she should. McCoy let out a frustrated huff, "What?"It was spoken with more surliness than he'd intended.

"it's nothing," she shook her head, coming here had been a mistake. She had just felt so…cold, after shift. The ship was too quiet, the entire crew shocked and fearful after the events of the afternoon and Nyota's feet and brought her to sickbay, to the doctor's office. "I should go."

"It's not 'nothing,'" Bones grabbed her wrist gently, but with enough pressure to stay Nyota's exit. "Whatever you've got on your mind—spit it out. It'll make you feel better."

Her cheeks flushed beautifully, Bones observed, but confused as to why she might be embarrassed. _What the hell?_ He thought, suddenly feeling awkward before releasing the wrist he held captive, having held onto it for too long after Uhura had abandoned her attempt to leave. Her cleared his throat, "C'mon. What's botherin' ya?" he asked, "_Aside_ from the fact that we've got a homicidal _loon_ on the loose."

"It's not that," she averted her eyes, trying to feign a reassuring smile. How did one got about propositioning a lonely, over worked and surly doctor? Nyota knew much of Leonard's outward bramble was little more than a thorny shield he used to hide the compassion and bleeding heart within; only visible when one caught his eyes. She'd always secretly found Leonard attractive—she had a thing for dark features and his Southern drawl was like honey poured over a warm biscuit—but she'd only had eyes for Spock in the Academy and even though their breakup had been amicable, Nyota had spent the last several months healing from the disappointment of broken dreams. In recent weeks, however, she'd realized that whatever feelings she been subduing toward the doctor during their acquaintance, but had ignored in favor of Spock, had begun to break through her Vulcan blinders.

She had often found herself following the physician with her eyes, every time he entered and exited a room. On the bridge, she'd catch her mind wandering into any number of doctor/patient fantasies, Leonard's voice telling her to, _"hold still, darlin'. I'll take good care of ya," _as she leaned back onto a bio bed in a private room. He'd then run surgeon finger up her long, lithe legs, pushing them up as if he were going to give her a pelvic exam, before skilled hands cupped her ass and—

"Uhura?" McCoy's voice broke through her musings and she nearly flinched out of the chair. Her reaction instantly caused concern to cloud his warm, chestnut orbs and he was immediately rounding the desk to come kneel before her. He peered into her eyes, looking for signs of stress, worried that she might be suffering from some kind of delayed shock, "Are you alright, darlin'?"

"Fine," Nyota's voice was raspy, even to her own ears and she swallowed thickly. Had she really just been fantasizing about Dr. McCoy, in his office, in the middle of a conversation with the man himself? Holy shit, she needed to get laid. "I'm fine," she repeated, her voice steadier now. "I was just…I'm just worried, you know. I…I don't like that security hasn't found him yet." She hated to play the damsel in distress—Nyota could handle herself in any situation—phaser fights, barroom brawls, overzealous farm boys and homosexual boyfriends and he'd be damned if she was going to admit that McCoy made her…jumpy. Even if it was in a good way.

"I know, but he won't get far," McCoy stood up and made his way to his office med closet, where he kept the Captain's personal hypos for all number of ailments—allergies, sleeplessness, pain—and pulled out a hypo, adjusting the dosage for a smaller body mass. "I'm technically off duty, but I'm going to be chivalrous and give you one of these anyway."

Nyota took the proffered hypo, her hands brushing gently across the pad of the doctor's thumb, "What's it for?"

"It's a sleep aid," he turned around and shut the cabinet, then reached over to flick off his desk light, mentally groaning at the sheer number of unfinished reports scattered on top of his desk, then paused. Letting out a rueful sigh, he turned the lamp back on and eyed the PADDs for a moment; none of these actions going unnoticed by the communications officer. She was just as good at reading body language as she was at reading written and sign language. The doctor was tense, but it appeared he wasn't planning on going anywhere for a while, off duty or not.

Jim paced Giotto's office, deep in thought. Pike hadn't been able to uncover who had cleared the Ensign for service aboard Jim's ship, but he had assured the young Captain that he _would_ find out. Whoever it was, they had strong ties to someone with a lot of sway, if Pike's frustration had been any indication. It was unusual for the Admiral to meet with a brick wall when dealing with the upper echelon of Starfleet brass, but that was exactly what was happening.

While Jim was pretty sure he could guess which Admiral had signed off on Matthews' commission, he didn't have any proof. What was worse, Lt. Chief Engineer Lesalle who had been working side by side with Security's Network Security team had still been unable to track the IP address of whatever mobile device Matthews was using to hack the computer. Meanwhile, searching for him on a ship this size was like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. There were teams of security, from all shifts, searching on foot, but Jim knew it would ultimately be unsuccessful. They would have to draw him out—much as Jim was loathe to do so. Drawing Matthews out would mean putting Spock at risk. They already knew their resident psycho was monitoring the security feeds, having deleted footage on board the shift before they could check the cameras to track Matthews' path from the science lab.

That meant they'd have to make their trap seem very real. If Dr. Collins, security's criminal psychologist was correct, Matthews knew they were aware of his identity and as such, his obsession with killing Spock would be at a whole new intensity. "Those with nothing to lose," the doctor had said, "have no compunction to hold back in regards to doing exactly as they are compelled."

In other words, the second Matthews saw an opportunity—he would try to finish the job. With Spock laid up in sickbay, defenseless but for the security outside his door, if an opening were made available, the ensign exposing himself would almost be a guarantee. He didn't want to think about what could happen if the plan he was putting together failed, but at the same time, allowing Matthews to continue hiding, waiting for an opportunity, was even more risky. The more time they gave this guy to sit and think up a new plan, the less likely they were to catch on before it was too late. No. They needed to end this. Now.

Jim was mid-pace when Lt. Giotto entered his office, "Sir," he greeted, before crossing the room taking the seat behind his desk. "Sorry it took me so long. I was—"

"Making out with your girlfriend?" Jim's grin didn't quite reach his ears through the stress, but it was still genuine as he took in Barry's flushed cheeks, "its okay. I understand."

Giotto cleared his throat, highly embarrassed, "Yeah, when she's upset she gets…" his flush darkened.

Jim held up a hand, "I…don't need to know. Let's get down to business."

"Aye, sir," Barry nodded. "I'm guessing the path you wore into the carpet over there led to a strategy?"

"You're very perceptive, Cupcake." Kirk teased, "I knew there was a reason I promoted you to Security Chief." Taking the seat opposite Barry, the Captain informed Giotto of his plan to draw out Matthews using Spock's stay in sickbay to their advantage. They would wait until 0300, during Gamma shift when the ship was less crowded. At 0230, the ship's main computer would initiate a silent subroutine that tied into the security cameras on both the sickbay deck and deck five. They would turn one of Matthews' own tricks against him. As soon as the subroutine activated, Jim would make his way to sickbay from his quarters on deck five and slip into Spock's room.

While Matthews would only be able to view the footage on the loop from his device, Giotto would be in his office, monitoring the real time footage and standing by to alert the Captain and his men if or when the ensign made an appearance. At 0345, Giotto would call his men away from Spock's room, to 'check out a lead on the suspect.' Nurse Chapel would volunteer to 'keep an eye on Mr. Spock,' and then they would wait. If Matthews did not appear within the 45 minute opening they were going to provide, then they would try another set up tomorrow.

"All we need to do is inform McCoy and Chapel and program the subroutine," Giotto's voice was full of anticipation. He knew this asshole wouldn't be able to resist the opening they were going to provide.

"Good," Kirk stood, feeling much better about the plan—now that he and Giotto had hashed out the details together. "I'll get to sickbay and tell McCoy and Chapel what we're doing. You inform your team what they need to do."

"Yes, sir," Barry replied, before watching the Captain exit into the corridor. He then turned to his com unit and summoned his network team into his office.

Meanwhile, back in sickbay….

Making a decision, Nyota practically glided to the panel by the door, engaging the lock for the office and activating the privacy glass, causing all the windows to immediately fog into a dense white sheen. McCoy's head shot up in bafflement, "What the hell is going-"

Nyota shushed him by closing the space between them and pressing a finger against his lips, "Shhh…" She then ran her other hand down the length of his torso, intentions clear, "I don't need a sleep aid," she breathed, her tongue wetting her starving lips. "I don't need to _rest_ or _take it easy_…I don't want to go to my empty room and lay alone in my empty bed."

"Uhura—"

"Nyota, Leonard," she insisted, bringing her hands to the thick hair at the nape of his neck, arms encircling strong shoulders as her breast pushed against the firm plane of Bones' muscular chest. "Call me Nyota."

"Nyota," his voice was cracked whisper. "You need to—" soft, sweet lips pressed to his own silenced the protest he had been about to issue. Sweet Jesus, the body pressed against his felt so good…lips tasted so sweet. What on God's green earth did she want with _him?_

"What I _need," _Nyota's voice was demanding as she cleared the doctor's desk with a sweep of a deceptively strong arm, sending a multitude of PADDS crashing to the floor. "What I've _wanted_ for months—is _you."_

Before Bones knew what was happening, he was being bodily shoved onto his back atop his own desk and straddled by the sexiest woman he'd ever known. He was instantly hard the second her pert little ass seated itself upon his groin, "Sweet merciful Jesus…"

Nyota leaned over her prey, his eyes widened in disbelief, "I want you buried so deep inside me that I feel you in my stomach." She could feel his arousal through the thin material of her uniform skirt and it brought a smirk to her lips. Uhura had never been this dominant before but she knew Bones would never approach her. The doctor never approached _anyone_ and after a year of waiting for Spock and then finding out that they weren't physically compatible had left her with the female version of blue balls. And there was just _something_ about McCoy that brought out the lioness within and she was reveling in the power of it. "I'm going to do us both a favor," she promised, "and fuck you into the floor."

Bones didn't need a translator for that, and when vixen lips came crashing onto his own, he gave up the pretense wanting to escape. He'd beaten off to fantasies involving Nyota several times while at the Academy and even a few times here out in space. There was just something quietly enticing about a woman that was both soft and yet strong enough to beat the shit of you that Leonard found irresistible. He was a doctor, not a saint, after all, and if Nyota needed companionship after a day like this and—even just for a time—wanted it from _him_, he was damn sure _not_ going to look this gift horse in the mouth. When she finally released his lips in favor of air, pulling her shirt over head, exposing two firm breasts, barely covered by pink lace, he managed a consenting, "Whatever you want, darlin'. It's yours."

From their position just outside the doctor's office, Nurses Christine Chapel and Daniel Johanssen shared a knowing look. "You owe me fifty credits," Chapel smirked at her colleague, but he wasn't the only one that owed her on this one and by the end of the week, she'd have more than enough credits to finally order that Deltan silk dress she's been saving for and maybe even a pair of new pumps to match. She was about to turn back to dispose of the empty IVs she had just procured from their patients when the Captain strode in through the doors. _Oh shit!_ Thought Chapel before mouthing silently to Johanssen, who'd also seen Kirk's entrance looked on in stupefied horror as Jim closed in on the doctor's office, to "_Do SOMETHING!"_

Daniel held out his arms to Christine in an expression that clearly begged, '_What do you expect __**me**__ to do?'_ Failing to come up with a plan to save the good doctor and Ms. Uhura from their current predicament, they looked on captivated silence as the Captain's pace slowed perceptibly, noticing the active privacy glass. They heard a muffled, _'the fuck?' _before he began keying in what had to be an override code.

Jim punched his code into the panel outside of Bones' office, suspicious of the locked doors and tinted glass. Bones never used any of that shit—the doctor kept a strict open door policy, often times leaving the setting on open so people could walk in and out without wasting time asking for permission. The lock disengaged loudly in the full, but somber sickbay and without any hesitation, Jim entered the office, the door shutting again behind him, but not before Chapel and Johanssen were able to confirm their suspicions.

The vision that greeted Jim upon entry to his CMOs office was not one that he would soon forget. A host of data PADDs were strewn about the floor, a bottle of whiskey was lay broken on the floor within a puddle of its contents and on the desk was his half-naked CMO being straddled by the _Enterprise's _prim and proper Communications Officer, Nyota Uhura—her beautiful breasts barely covered by a pink lace bra, bobbing perkily in the air.

For a second, there was absolute silence and Jim's mouth was half-open in a disbelief while he stared at his two very naughty officers. Bones had immediately released the nipple he had been sucking on and was now paler than walls of his office, while Nyota had never looked more like a deer in the headlights her eyes darting around the room, obviously looking for her discarded clothing. Finally, Jim managed to speak, bending over to pick up her shirt, which was peeking out from underneath Bones' scrubs, "I'm suddenly reminded of a similar situation in which our roles were reversed, Lieutenant." He smirk was devious as he watched her blush further, obviously recalling that morning she had walked in on him and Gaila, when they were still cadets just before Jim's third attempt at the Kobiyashi Maru.

Uhura snatched her shirt away, quickly pulling it over her torso and easing off the good doctor and straightening her appearance. Both men were amazed at her ability to go from thoroughly debauched to prim and proper in less than a minute, "Leonard," her eyes studied his still sprawled form on the desk, his erection still plainly tenting his pants, "We'll continue our…_conversation_ later." She then turned toward the door, nodded at Jim with a dismissive, "Captain," and left-well, fled was more like it.

Jim took in the expression on his friend, who was staring at the door as if his entire heart had just walked through it, and shook his head. He should probably be upset for the utter lack of decorum that he had just witnessed, especially in the wake of all that had happened that afternoon, but he wasn't. The fact of the matter was, Bones was the most competent, efficient, brilliant and dedicated doctor in Starfleet—Hell, the galaxy, in Jim's opinion—and he was also the most stressed. Besides, it was well past Alpha shift and while they could have chosen a better place than the desk in Bones' office, the doctor was technically off duty. Therefore, Jim allowed a wicked grin to spread across his face.

"I don't suppose she's allowed you to call her by her first name?" Jim teased, bringing McCoy back to the present.

The doctor threw his head back in raucous laughter, "You have the worst timin' in the parsec, you asshole. I'm gonna have blue balls for a week."

"Bones," Jim offered the doctor a hand and helped pull the doctor into a sitting positing. Then, chuckling, he asked, "What the hell was that all about anyway? How long have you two—"

"We haven't been," Bone interrupted, looking back at the door again. He then hopped off the desk and retrieved his shirt. When he was fully dressed again, he met Jim's eyes, "She just came in here, asking about Spock and the other victims and the next thing you know she's locking the door, pushing me onto my desk and having her wicked way."

"You didn't seem to mind," Jim smirked. "I'm pretty sure there was something pink and lacey in your mouth when I—" he was cut off by hard slap to the back of his.

"_Gentlemen_ don't kiss and tell," McCoy chided as picked up the disturbed PADDs from the floor. Jim snorted and rolled his eyes, grabbing a few towels off the shelf behind Bones' desk and cleaning up the whiskey. When the room was somewhat back to order, both men took a seat.

"So," Bones started, "I assume you've got something important to discuss or did you just stop in to say hi before setting up a post at the hobgoblin's bedside?"

"While I am going to check on Spock while I'm here," Jim ignored Bones' eye roll. The doctor didn't know that Captain and First Officer had been knocking boots for the past few days, "I need to talk to you about something important."

McCoy straightened and leaned forward, "Did you find Matthews?"

"No," Jim shook his head. "But we do have a plan to draw him out."

McCoy folded his arms across his chest and leaned forward on the desk on his elbows and forearms, "Yeah?" He listened intently while Jim described the plan for entrapping Spock's assailant. He didn't like the idea of using Spock as bait, but he also agreed that allowing Matthews time to put together another attack, especially after the damage this last one had wrought, McCoy knew that options were few and far between. He agreed with that Matthews would likely be desperate by now to see his plan to fruition. If they provided the trouble ensign with an opportunity, the maybe he would make an impulsive move and they could catch him.

"I don't like putting Spock at risk either, but I'm going to be in the room with him, waiting there with my phaser. The second he rounds the corner, his ass will be stunned to the ground," Jim assured.

Bones nodded, eyeing the chronometer. "Quite a while to 0245," he observed.

"I know," Jim replied, standing, "I'm going to stop by Spock's room then get a few hours of shut eye. I want to be alert when we do this."

"I'm gonna…" Bones thought of Uhura, "do the same."

Jim gave him a knowing smile before they parted ways. He nodded to security, who stepped aside to allow Jim entry to Spock's room. Once there, all of his focus narrowed to the being on the bed before him. Swallowing down the third lump of relief that had manage to crawl up his trachea that day, he quietly approached the bed and took one of Spock's hands, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. _I almost lost you today,_ he thought, biting his lip to keep his eyes from spilling over. He ran a hand through Spock's hair then traced all the beloved features of his lover's face with tender care. "Spock, ashaya," he whispered, trying the Vulcan endearment for the first time and liking it. "I won't let him hurt you again, I promise."

Jim didn't know that Vulcans were aware of their surroundings and the conversations taking place around them while in trance. Spock could hear Jim's words just as clearly as he could feel his caresses. Regardless of his belief that Spock couldn't hear him, Jim continued to talk, because talking to Spock always helped. "I was…furious…when I saw you bleeding in the shuttle bay," Jim's voice was steady, but thick with emotion, "I wanted to kill the bastard for what he did to you…for what he did to all of you. We lost two good men, Shaw and Lebrawn—and _why_?" Jim pressed another kiss to hand he held, "All because of one madman's delusions?"

He shook his head in shame and self-loathing, "I _hate _him for hurting you like this and I still want to kill him…but I know you wouldn't want that so I'll just settling for seriously maiming." Jim sighed through a smile, his thumb stroking slowly over Spock's knuckles. He decided he should talk to Spock about more pleasant things and, sparing a glance to make sure they weren't being watched by security or anyone else, Jim laid on his side, as to Spock as he could get without being on top of him.

With Spock's arm tucked securely in the juncture of his armpit, Jim propped himself on his elbow and placed a kiss on the Vulcan's forehead right between his slanted brows. "When this is over and we're orbiting Earth for a couple of days," he whispered into Spock's listening pointed ear, "I'm going to take you on shore leave in Arizona. It'll be warm and sunny, just how you like it. I'm going to spend an entire day making love to you and tasting every inch of your skin." He placed a soft kiss to Spock's lips before burying his head in the strong neck. He squeezed Spock firmly, unknowingly transmitting every feeling of love and affection rolling through him into the telepath's psyche. "I love you so much," Jim said after a time, leaning up again placing another firm kiss onto Spock's temple. "When you wake up, I'm gonna show you just how much." Slowly, and loathingly, Jim eased off the bed.

He took Spock's hand in his one final time, kissing each finger and squeezing softly. "I won't be gone long," Jim promised. "Just gotta get a few hours of sleep before we bust our xenophobe, but I promise I'll be right here. I won't let anything happen to you."

Jim smiled, taking one last look at the still figure on the bed before exiting the room—not knowing that he had felt and heard everything Jim had said. Not knowing how badly Spock had wanted to hold his T'hy'la to him…how utterly cherished he was by the Vulcan. Not hearing Spock's internal vow that as soon as all of this was over, he was going to bind them together for all eternity. He would convince Jim's, one way or another, that his logic was quite sound.


	9. Chapter 9

The cargo bays of starships were not kept at the same temperature as the rest of the vessel. Typically, one did not spend enough time in any cargo area to notice, especially since one's time would mostly be spent moving about from container to container, lifting, pulling and counting the various items within. Theodore Matthews, however, had been hiding in the _Enterprise's_ cargo bay for nearly twelve hours. It was damned chilly where he sat, monitoring the ship's cameras, between container A7 and B1. His fingers kept flicking his stylus across the screen of his personal PADD, alternating between views of Sickbay, deck 5 and deck 8—where the security department was located. He was trying to find a pattern in the shift changes of the security guards in front of Spock's room as well as visits from the Captain to Sickbay. So far, no pattern had emerged.

Frustrated with the situation, Matthews minimized the security feed and opened his personal log recording program.

_Stardate 2256.75_

_ I have been evading arrest in the cargo bay for nearly __**twelve**__ hours now. I have already avoided discovery by three different security teams by monitoring their search with my personal PADD. Considering the small brain most security personnel have, it shouldn't be too hard to stay one step ahead—or forty for that matter. There's a reason that death rates are so high among security ensigns—red shirts, we call them—and it has __**nothing**__ to do with the 'dangers of the job.' I've seen Captain Kirk out maneuver hordes of murderous aliens on his own faster than those clowns can even lift a phaser. It's fucking pathetic and the second I have a chance, I'll prove just how big a joke Starfleet security really is. Lieutenant Giotto is probably the biggest dope of them all. Imagine, only assigning two guards to Spock's private room. They may know my identity, but they have __**no idea**__how to find me, let alone arrest me. _

There was a pause as Matthews considered Giotto's motives for not placing more guards in Sickbay. Did they not take him seriously?

_They better not be underestimating me. Do they really think a couple of security fucks are going to stop me from purging this ship of its Vulcan infestation? They have no idea what I'm capable of, if that's what they think. I engineered a brand new explosive ON MY OWN in a matter of DAYS. And, it WORKED, even if it didn't kill the greenblood. I've hacked the computer systems with the same device—untraced—multiple times and they __**still**__ can't figure it out! And they __**won't**__ catch me. They can't. And when I'm done here, I'm going to make sure the rest of the green bloods in Starfleet go back to their pathetic little colony and rot there. Their blood is just as green and just as tainted as the Romulans—it's exactly the same. Why can't they see? I will make them see._

_ When I finally kill the half-breed, they will see that Spock's humanity is tainted by his green blood. The sins he is capable of…the danger he represents to everyone on this ship. They will all see. When he is dead, they'll all see and they'll thank me for my service. They will—_

The minimized security feed was flashing at the bottom of his screen. Exiting his personal log, Matthews pulled the feed into view. His spine straightened when saw one of the security team members guarding the Commander speaking into his communicator. He tapped into the audio feed to hear the Security Chief's voice as he addressed his crew.

"Cass, I need you and Ensign Porter to report to Botany Lab 8," Giotto's voice was urgent. "We may have had a potential sighting on Matthews."

"Yes, sir," Cass replied.

Matthews toggled the security feed to the specified Botany Lab to see an Orion woman bent toward a lone security ensign, speaking conspiratorially and gesturing toward a figure that was sitting on the far side of the lab. Ted had to admit that from that angle whoever it was certainly did look like him. Dark hair, same build and height. Poor sap. Switching back to the feed in Sickbay, Matthews watched as Cass and Porter looked to be giving directions to the medics on duty, probably telling them to watch the room, before exiting to the corridor and heading toward the lift.

He then switched his view to deck 5 to see if the Captain had been alerted to the possible sighting. When Kirk did not emerge after five minutes, Matthews knew this was his shot. He clutched the modified phaser he had managed to snag from his quarters before heading to the cargo bay the previous afternoon. He changed the security to feed to the corridor outside the cargo bay. When he saw his opening, he took it. One blow to the half-breed's head and Matthews will have succeeded in the first step of his quest to rid Starfleet of the Vulcan menace threatening to take over. He hadn't been able to save his parents from the green-blooded Nero, but he could save others from the impending danger of the broken Vulcan species before they all slipped back into pre-reform violence and began claiming victims.

They were all murderers and rapists at the heart of their blood and Matthews knew for a fact that more of these isolated 'Pon Farr' incidents were going to get worse, and who knew what else the Vulcans were keeping from them. No, they couldn't be trusted and Matthews intended to keep any more of them from coming to Earth, from joining Starfleet and putting his fellow human crewmembers at risk. He'd kill them all, one by one, if that's what it took before he allowed them to run amok all over the fleet—starting with the Commander.

Admiral Chris Pike stared at the man before him, knowing that vein just over his left temple was likely visibly pulsing in agitation. "Damn it, James," Pike tossed the PADD he was holding across the room in attempt to make the man just a little more uncomfortable. "What the hell were you thinking—passing that kid off as fit for duty? His evals are a _fucking_ mess!"

Admiral James Komack let the fight leave his body as he slumped into the chair behind his desk, enjoying it while it was still his. By tomorrow, someone else would probably be occupying this space. "Hell, Chris, I don't know," he shook his head. "His parents were good people—fine officers."

"You know that doesn't matter," Pike insisted. "He was throwing around slander and half-facts for forty-five minutes."

"Oh, _**come on**_, _Pike_," Komack leaned forward, eyes meeting those of his fellow officer as he spoke his next words. "You know as well as I do that more than half the fleet holds a certain degree of racism for any number of known species—Klingons, Romulans, Andorians and yes, even our logical, stoic friends the Vulcans. It isn't uncommon at all and hell, I figured a few months out in space he'd either learn to live with the aliens around him or resign his post."

"There's a big fucking difference between racism and xenophobic psychosis and you know it," Pike spat back. He held up the vid file of Matthews' interview, "The pacing, the twitching, the conviction—the guy's obviously out his fucking mind with PTSD and not only did you sign off on it, but you completely ignored the warnings and the requests for review flagged by a Starfleet psychologist."

Komack didn't have anything to say to that, "His parents—"

"Are dead," Chris interrupted, "and I don't care if they were five star Fleet Generals, their son was showing signs of a psychotic break and he shouldn't be serving on a Constitution Class Starship surrounded by the fixation of his delusions." Pike stood from his chair, "I just don't get it, James," he held his hands out in question, "why were his parents so important to you that you would risk your career on passing their son through fleet protocol?"

Defeated, Komack uttered the truth that he himself had refused to acknowledge for two and half long years, "Because…" he took a deep breath, feeling his world collapsing around his shoulders. "Katherine and I…" he let Pike figure it out. It only took a second for the proverbial light bulb to go off behind the Admiral's blue eyes.

"You're fucking kidding me," Pike deadpanned.

"He's all that's left of her," Komack swallowed. "She was…they were both so proud of him for joining. I owed it to her to see him get there."

"Son of a bitch," Pike paced for a moment then stopped. "You'll be lucky if they don't court martial you for this." He walked to the door, "You better pray to whatever Gods you believe in that Jim Kirk finds Matthews before one of his attempts on Mr. Spock succeeds, because if anything happens to that Vulcan, Kirk won't stop until he has your head on a fucking platter." He noticed Komack's snort of derision and smirked at the Admiral's insolence, "You can underestimate **Captain** Kirk all you want, but he's an intergalactic hero with a quadrant's worth of sway over people far higher in the chain than either of us. If he wants you gone—you will be." With that, he stepped over the threshold and slammed the door behind him.

Time passed quickly as Jim's chronometer alerted him, needlessly since he was already up and pacing his quarters, when 0245 rolled around. Giotto's voice sounded in Jim's earpiece, "Subroutine is in place."

"I'm on my way to position. Kirk out." The trip to sickbay was quiet, and Jim's stomach was tight in anticipation. If Matthews took the bait, they'd have his ass busted within the hour. He only hoped that the fucker was monitoring the cameras and noticed when security was called away by Giotto. He hoped Matthews would be in too much of a rush to catch on to their streaming loop. Jim slipped into Spock's room, nodding at the medics keeping an eye out before ducking behind the curtains.

He glanced at Spock, still in his trance which had healed all of Spock's injuries—his burned hands, punctured lung and broken bones—only a few bruises remaining, and made a private vow that this would be the end of it. This was the last time Spock would be laid up in sickbay at the hands of this unstable xenophobe. He trained his eyes back onto the door, expecting the ensign to use his PADD to monitor the occupants in Sickbay and discover the opening they'd provided for him to slip through undiscovered.

What they hadn't counted on, was Matthew's use of a transporter to beam directly into the room. Jim was momentarily distracted when Spock began muttering in his sleep a sign, M'Benga had said, that the Vulcan was coming out of the trance. When Jim ran to the door to open it and call the doctors, knowing if they didn't respond to Spock's waking from the trance, he might be stuck in it. _Fuck this is bad timing_, he thought just before he ran into the door, finding it locked—not part of the plan. He turned, confused, just in time to see the blue swirl of the transporter beam fade from Matthews form. The ensign came to his wits first, drawing his phaser and firing at the Captain, who dodged by ducking into a roll and jumping up to tackle Matthew's to the floor. Jim's phaser had fallen from its half-undone holster and wasn't at his side when he reached for it. "Fuck," he swore, just before taking a knee to the groin.

Matthews scrambled to straddle the Captain, and bring the phaser to Kirk's head, which was made all the harder since strong arms were keeping him from getting the weapon into position. "You aren't supposed to be here, _**Captain**_!" Matthews yelled as they struggled for possession of the ensign's weapon. "I didn't want to have to hurt anyone else, especially not you, Kirk."

Kirk grunted, trying to get his legs in position for a reversal, "Y'know, I get that you're a delusional xenophobe, but why Vulcans? Why Spock?"

Matthews pressed his arms downward with all the strength he possessed, slowly gaining ground. He could hear the pounding on the door outside the room as security tried to break in. By the time they did breech the entrance, it would be too late, "They're dangerous—all them. Dirty as the Romulan blood that flows through veins. Spock _has to die._ I have to **protect you**! I have to protect _all of you _from _yourselves._" The phaser was only an inch away from aiming directly at Kirk's head.

Jim wedged his legs upward, and flipped the ensign bodily over, sending the phaser flying and Matthews sprawling to the other side of the room. Jim immediately stood, looking for his phaser. When he started towards it, he heard an animalistic scream as Matthews came charging after him. He instinctively moved out of the way only to find himself cursing his reactions when the ensign went flying into Spock's biobed, knocking the mattress over and sending the still muttering Spock slamming against the wall with a loud 'thonk' before he fell, limp, to the floor and behind the overthrown bed.

"NO!" Jim shouted, concerned for Spock's condition, not liking that he couldn't see what was going on behind the upturned mattress and bed frame. He heard a quick shift of fabric and the sound of fumbling movement as he cautiously approached the bed. If Matthews had the phaser, running into his line of fire would be a dumb, rookie mistake. Jim was neither of those, but he could feel his heart trembling with fear for his friend and lover, now sequestered on the other side of the room with the man who wanted nothing more than to see Spock dead.

Sparks were flying into the room from the door as Engineer Scott had arrived to sickbay and was now using a phaser torch to slice through the door. This particular room was designed for injured prisoners and was protected by chromium reinforced steel, there was no way they were going to be able to cut through in time. "Matthews?" Jim called out, attempting to keep the ensign's focus away from Spock and onto himself. Of course, in doing so, Jim had exposed his location, and the ensign came leaping over the mattress, pouncing onto the Captain and rolling them across the floor, a surgical scalpel in hand. "Fuck," Jim swore as it sliced against his shoulder. That was definitely going to need stitches. The scalpel was coming down for his throat and Jim was in the middle of throwing a punch to the ensign's temple when suddenly, Matthew's was yanked from his position on top of Jim, the scalpel flying from his hand and falling to the floor with a 'clink', as Jim's fist met with empty air.

Spock stood in the center of the room, medical gown wide open in the back as he held the ensign aloft with one hand while Jim looked on, gaping in relief and surprise, from his position on the floor. Spock's face was a mask of indifference as he spoke, "Ensign Matthews, I presume?"

"Puh-please," the ensign stuttered, flailing helplessly as his worst nightmare seemed to be about to come true, "don't…don't hurt me, Vulcan."

"And why should I not?" Spock asked, holding out his hand to stay Jim from his approach. "You have certainly not shown any hesitation in your attacks upon me, going so far as to seriously injure and kill numerous innocent crewmembers in the process."

"Because I'm PROTECTING THEM ALL FROM **YOU**!" He shouted manically, "How _long_ until you break like the others? How long until your logic _fails_ _you_ and the principles of Surak abandon you?" Matthews was jerking his body desperately now, "How long until the green blood you share with that bastard robs you of your decency! How long until you murder innocent officers—just like NERO! Just like those FILTHY ROMULANS!"

"You're fucking insane," Jim observed from his position behind Spock.

"Indeed," Spock agreed, turning his attention momentarily to his Captain, "he exhibits the signs of extreme mental duress. In fact, his attempts on my life speak to a substantial psychotic break, likely caused by a catalyst event."

"_I'm_ insane?" Matthews cut in, turning his frantic, terrified gaze to Jim, "Look at how powerful he is!" He gestured with his head to the way in which Spock had him lifted several feet in the air with one hand, "What happens when he turns that strength on _you_, _Captain Kirk_?"

Jim had been about to reply that typically Spock used his Vulcan strength to pin him to the nearest available surface and fuck him senseless when Spock lowered Matthews to the floor, saying, "I believe, ensign, that you are operating under an illogical assumption that because Vulcans and Romulans share a common ancestry—are both green-blooded, as you say—that our traditions and codes of ethics take a back seat to our biology."

"Pon Farr strips Vulcans of their logic. After Nero there were several rapes—"

"Ah, I see," Spock interrupted once again. "It is true that many of our unbonded males lost their intended bondmates during the implosion of Vulcan. Several new mates had to be found and in one, extreme episode, a nurse at one of the treatment facilities in San Francisco was claimed by a Vulcan male deep in the Plak Tow. However, she was _not_ raped, neither was she brutalized. The nurse offered herself to him during his Time and in doing so saved his life."

"That's a lie! I watched the vid report—"

"Which was later retracted when the nurse made her statement several days later," Jim interjected, "moron."

"It doesn't matter!" Matthews insisted, "If she hadn't offered herself, then—"

"He certainly would have perished," Spock supplied. "The matter is of little importance. You are angry because your parents were taken from you by Nero. You believe that because I share a common ancestry as their murderer that he and I are inherently the same. What you fail to consider is that madness is not dependent upon the pigment of one's blood any more than it is dependent upon hair or eye color.

"Furthermore, the Romulans themselves are not inherently evil by genetic default. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations, Theodore, means that all living things vary by culture, appearance and biological construct. The blood that runs through your veins is as red as the blood that ran through the veins of the ancient slavers and warmongers of your species, but it does not mean that their beliefs and culture are genetically connected to your DNA."

Spock slowly backed the ensign up against the wall, which did not go unnoticed by Matthews. "Wh-what are you doing?" he panted in fear, "I'm sorry, okay…I'm sorry. _Please_, don't hurt me."

Spock inclined his head, "I have no intention of harming you."

_Leave it to Spock to try and talk sense into the guy trying to murder him…_Jim thought, shaking his head. The ensign was shaking in his skin. It was one thing to rant and rave and attack from a distance. It was a whole other to look that person in the eye and try to do it to their face. Only a coward would go to the lengths and use the type of methods that Matthews had employed, and his yellow was definitely showing. Scott and security would have the door open soon enough. In the meantime, Jim didn't see any harm in allowing Spock to speak his mind to his assailant, so he sat back and did exactly that.

"Do you believe you are the sole party hurt by the actions of Nero?" Spock asked without inflection. "An entire planet and the majority of its six billion occupants were destroyed. Men, women, children, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters…mothers and fathers. You were not the only child whose parents were stolen."

"But you don't _feel it_ like humans do—"

"No," Spock agreed, "The Vulcan range of feeling is far more intense, which is why we adhere to logic, but how does one apply logic to such an illogical act of genocide?"

Ensign Matthews snorted in disbelief and eyed his captor, "Prove it, green-blood."

Spock raised a hand to the ensign's meld points, "If you wish it." With that, Matthews' mind was flooded with the thoughts and…_feelings_…such deep, intense feelings that he felt he would burst at the seam. Visions of a dark-haired human woman floated before his mind's eye, 'My mother,' Spock's voice echoed around his psyche. He then saw the woman standing on the edge of a cliff, her hand outstretched, the sorrow that filled her eyes as she fell to her death among the crumbling rocks of a planet now forever lost. Immediately he could feel the aching sadness that mirrored his own when he had first seen the images of the Farragut's wreckage floating through space. The helplessness and despair, the emptiness and unmitigated pain.

When he found himself back in the Sickbay, his mind once again his own, he could see all those emotions reflected in the eyes of the being before him, knowing that he understood. "You _ache_ as I do," he sobbed, brokenly. "I wanted…there had to be someone to blame…"

"There was," Spock conceded, "but he is perished and he did not speak or act for anyone but himself."

"I'm…" Matthews slid to floor, "I was so angry…so angry that I couldn't have stopped it." He then met the Vulcan's eyes, truly seeing the person before him for the first time since their acquaintance, "I'm so sorry…" he swallowed the bile building in the back of his throat. "What have I done?" He had been so consumed with his grief…his pain and hatred…that he had _murdered_ innocent colleagues and injured _so many_ more. "I need…I need _help_," he cried, voice breaking on the last word as his chest heaved with the weight of his regret.

Jim finally broke his silence and crossed the room to the broken man, sobbing on the floor. There was no room for hatred in the face of such despair. He placed a comforting hand on Matthews' shoulder, "I won't lie, Ted, you've done some terrible things and there are going to be consequences, but" his reassured, "I swear to you that we'll get you the help you need. I don't believe this is the kind of man you are and I'd like to see you get back to the person I read about in those reviews attached your application."

When Scotty and Giotto finally managed to get through the door, Matthews went quietly and willingly into custody.


	10. Chapter 10

Jim slowly blinked into wakefulness, skin warmed by the sunlight filtering in through burgundy curtains. Blearily, he turned his head to the pillow beside him, finding it warm, but empty. The sound of movement coming from the kitchen confirmed that last night hadn't been a dream. He and Spock really were on leave together in San Francisco, two days after the trial and sentencing of one Theodore Matthews. The ensign had answered to the charges of tampering with the main computer of a Starfleet vessel, committing hate crimes, assault, conspiring to murder and manslaughter. Of course, one listen to the logs found on the Ensign's personal tablet and the argument for insanity wasn't even necessary.

Comparisons had been made between the Ensign's behavior and logs before and after the Narada crisis, and it was as if they belonged to two entirely different people. Pre-Nero Matthews had seemed like a cool guy, if a little nerdy about geology. The content of his logs were all about new discoveries and excitement about getting into space. After the death of his parents, however, Matthews' entries escalated from wishing he could have saved his family to highlighting research on pre-Surak vulcans, fallacies about Pon Farr and seeing Nero's face everywhere he went. They were actually pretty creepy, Jim thought. _He'll be able to do some primary research on Vafer-Tor,_ Jim sighed to himself. Apparently the judge and the shrinks agreed that the best way to cure Matthews of his paranoia of Vulcans was to surround him with them. _Hope they're right…_

Jim's attention was brought back to Spock's apartment when he heard the sound of an aircar horn blaring from the street below. Pushing thoughts of Matthews and that terrible week and half aside, Jim threw the coverlet back and slipped out of bed, padding softly to the replicator and punching in for a cup of coffee. He picked up his PADD and opened the day's issue of _Starfleet Informer_, scrolling past the headlines referring to the trial and booking marking one that read, "_Admiral James Komack Faces Possible Court Martial and Nasty Divorce" _until he came across the maintenance schedule. Pictures of his white lady were front and center as he read the title of the article "_Enterprise Crew Enjoys Leave while Vessel is Refitted." _They had actually interviewed members of the crew, asking them what they planned to do while planetside.

Jim chuckled when he came across a statement from one of his crew, _"I'm going to bury myself in non-replicated chocolate and only come up for air when it becomes necessary to drink milk,"_ _Ensign Reyes told our reporter_.

Jim smiled to himself thinking that it was probably a good thing he hadn't let himself be interviewed. He could see it now: _"I plan to spend an entire week making love to my first officer while we eat Chinese and lick chocolate from each other's pen—" _

"Jim?" Spock called from the kitchen, distracting him from his musings. "Are you fully cognizant?"

Jim smiled into his coffee, awed once more by Vulcan hearing range. "Yup. Just got up," he called from his position in front of the window, "I'm gonna take a quick shower before breakfast."

Suddenly, Spock appeared in the bedroom doorway wearing a silk, emerald green robe. Jim's coffee was immediately abandoned in favor of crossing the room and wrapping his arms around his scantily clad Vulcan. "Mmm…" he hummed into Spock's neck before bringing their lips together in a sweet caress, "'Morning."

Spock brought a hand to his lover's cheek, rubbing softly and feeling quite content as Jim responded by closing his eyes and pressing into his palm much like an affectionate kitten. "You needed to use the facilities?"

Spock's voice alerted Jim to what he was doing and he cleared his throat awkwardly before stepping aside so Spock could enter the room, "Right." He eyed the fresher, thinking a nice hot spray of water was exactly what he needed right about now. Spock was shuffling around the room now, probably pulling some clothing out of a bag or something and Jim thought that was a pity. Licking his lips, he turned to approach his unsuspecting prey. Spock was leaning over the foot of the bed, going through his suitcase, green robe happily clinging to the pert ass beneath.

Jim could still count on two hands the number of times they'd made love, and he was determined that after their leave, the count would be so high that all the toes and fingers of the _Enterprise _crew combined wouldn't be enough to hold a tally. He felt Spock freeze when Jim circled his arms around the lithe waist, hands entwining with the silk tie at the front of the robe. Jim rested his chin on a shoulder and squeezed affectionately, "Mmmm…" he hummed into a pointed ear at the feel of silk against his bare chest. "I love this robe, have I told you that?"

Spock felt a familiar flutter in his groin at the low pitched undertone of his Captain's voice. "You have mentioned it a total of nine times," Spock intoned, refusing to add to Jim's ego by immediately giving way to his desire. "However, I fail to see how your affinity for this particular article of clothing correlates to your continued avoidance of the shower. Indeed," Spock took a deep inhalation of air before turning in Jim's arms and deadpanning, "your stench is fairly overwhelming."

Jim's answering bark of laughter filled the room before he issued a playful bite to Spock's shoulder. "My stench, huh?" He gave Spock's butt as playful swat for he lifted his gaze to Spock's laughing brown eyes, "And I suppose _you're_ all clean under there? Fresh from the sonic."

"Yes," Spock non-smirked, "In fact, I arose two point four—" Spock chocked off with a gasp as loving hands glided under his robe and grazed over the head of his unsuspecting penis before grabbing handfuls of his backside.

The silk tie had given away to Jim's pull easily allowing the robe to fall open and reveal the soft, _clean_ skin underneath. "I'd hate to rub my filth all over such clean perfection…" he dropped to his knees, hands still clutching Spock's perfectly delectable ass, the silk robe caressing the back of his knuckles as he massaged each mound in a sensual rhythm, nuzzling his nose into the curly black hairs at Spock's groin and inhaling deeply.

Jim's cheek brushed gently against the shaft of Spock's now erect organ, before bringing his mouth just to the tip and glancing up to meet his lover's intense stare. The Vulcan's pupils were already dilated with desire, his mouth open as shallow breaths were marked by the rise and fall of that lithely muscled chest. As long as he lived, Jim knew he'd never get tired of seeing Spock respond to him so openly, "I think you missed a spot," he winked before engulfing the entire length, swallowing when the head hit the back of his throat.

"Oh!" Spock moaned, bringing a hand to Jim's shoulder and another to his head to hold himself straight. The sight of Jim's mouth wrapped around his shaft, his blue eyes beseeching as his head moved up and down on his cock, never failed to send his Vulcan heart into arrhythmia. "_Jim…"_ he moaned, not caring how unVulcan it was to do so—in the previous eight times that he and Jim had been physically intimate, Spock's control had yet to endure beyond the first few caresses—but knowing that this is precisely the kind of reaction his lover wanted. Spock could not allow Jim to want for anything.

Strong hands raked up and down the sinew of Spock's back, ass and thighs, winding to the front at the knees and pushing back up over hips and abdomen, tweaking erect nipples before repeating the cycle again. Over and over, Jim's mouth sucked and swallowed, licked and swirled around his lover's penis, while his ears basked in the praise his Vulcan sang with his moans. Jim's sack was heavy with want, his own cock throbbing between his thighs as pre-cum glistening upon the head. He felt the hand in his hair tighten before the cock in his mouth pulsed and his mouth was filled the warm fluid of Spock's release, enjoying the sound of Spock's rapturous shout.

Jim waited for his lover to soften, purposefully keeping Spock's emission in his mouth as he slowly and deliberately trailed his open mouth all the way from Spock's hip to his collar bone, leaving a path of bodily fluid as he went. Jim made sure he was looking Spock directly in the eyes when he swallowed the rest, licked his lips and smirked, "Oops. Looks like I made a mess."

The growl escaped his throat before Spock could stop it as he pulled Jim's mouth to his for a searing kiss. Strong hands traveled the length of his lover's thighs, removing flannel pants in their wake, before hoisting his human into his arms, Jim's legs wrapping around his waist as he moved toward the bathroom. His robe was discarded somewhere along the way before Spock slammed Jim's back against the wall of the shower, his mouth feasting on every piece of exposed flesh Jim's neck and shoulders provided.

"Oh, fuck," Jim nearly screamed when methodical fingers began to play at his opening. There was only one thing that could possibly make this scenario hotter Jim thought as he reached a hand toward the control panel and flipped on the water to a preset temperature. They both moaned as the almost too hot stream cascaded over their writhing bodies, adding a delicious slide to the friction between them.

Sensing Jim's slight discomfort with the current position, Spock released his lover's legs, allowing him to stand on his own feet. However, the second Jim's feet found ground; Spock found himself pressed face first into the wall where Jim's back had just been. Sucking lips and teasing tongue danced along the nape of his neck, slowly moving up behind his ear and then closing over the tip, drawing from the Vulcan an embarrassingly needy sound.

"Don't worry, baby," Jim cooed from behind him, hands and water dancing along Spock's back, around his hips and backside until talented fingers rubbed delicious circles around his entrance. "I'm gonna make you feel so good."

Jim's cock was throbbing painfully as he slid it back and forth within the cleft of his lover's gorgeous mounds. Spock was so fucking hot like this, wet and pliant…hands and arms splayed against the wall above his bowed head as he rolled his luscious ass in time to Jim's strokes. Every slide against the Vulcan's wanton hole caused a perceptible shudder to run through Spock's body. Jim reached over and punched in the code for conditioner, a generous amount appearing in the receptacle of the shower's replicator.

He let his cock come to rest against the small of Spock's back as he reached up and gently but firmly pulled Spock's head back by his hair, tantalizingly hot water spraying over both of them as he coated his fingers in the conditioner before sliding first one, then two into Spock's tight channel. Jim's light aggression coupled with his hot breath, coming out in pants against his ear made Spock's penis throb painfully. "Please," he begged in a half-groan, after several minutes of enduring Jim's fingers which were so good, but not nearly enough. "_Jim_…now."

Jim used the hand in Spock's hair to guide the Vulcan's head forward again as he withdrew his fingers. He coated his length in the remaining conditioner before bringing the head of his cock flush with its destination. He circled his free hand around to Spock's middle to grasp his lover's arousal, before he thrust inside—one long, sensual motion all the way to the hilt. Their simultaneous moan echoed loudly within the shower stall. Jim's forehead dropped against Spock's back as he pressed delirious kisses to his spine. Jim was drunk with his desire, as every nerve ending in his body took over. The slide of their bodies against one another as he thrust in and out, pumping Spock's shaft to the rhythm of their dance, filled Jim with a heady sense of euphoria. It had never been like this with anyone else. One touch, one sweet breath of air against his skin and Jim was gone, lost to his desire for the being in his arms.

The hand in Spock's hair moved to rub affectionately at the back of his neck as Jim continued to slowly slide in and out, the head of his penis rubbing maddeningly against his prostate as the hand around his organ drove him closer and closer to the brink. Spock had never known sensation such as this could exist before Jim. Just as he could feel his lover's flesh as it slid against his own, he could feel the love and devotion as it bled forth from Jim's mind and into his own blood. It fed Spock in a way that food could not. Quenched his thirst without water. Filled his soul in the way space was full of stars and planets and moons.

_This_, he thought blearily, feeling his climax approach. _This is all that matters._ Loving and being loved. Giving and taking. Touching and being touched. "_I love you,_" Spock managed before Jim pressed once more, insistently upon his prostate, pumping his seed deep within the Vulcan's core, ripping Spock's own orgasm from his body, his essence spraying against the shower wall and drizzling over Jim's fingers. The water beat down on them from above as they stood entwined under the spray of the shower, exhausted and panting.

Later, after they had made their way to the kitchen, both dressed in their bathrobes, Spock found himself wrapping arms around Jim as he flipped their pancakes. "I do not believe the doctor would approve of your choice in breakfast, ashaya," he observed, placing a light kiss to Jim's temple.

Jim sighed, feeling happier than he could have remembered. With all the hectic pressure and stress that they had been operating under since that first night in Spock's quarters, this was his first real taste of domesticity with Spock. Jim had never cohabitated before, but he had the feeling they were going to manage just fine. Deciding to ignore Spock's concerns regarding his diet and Bones' imminent bitching, Jim switched off the stove and leaned back into Spock's embrace.

"Remember when I told you the _Enterprise_ was home?" Jim asked.

Spock nodded against Jim's stubble-covered jaw, "I recall our conversation," he replied. "It was the night I realized that I was in love with you."

Jim smiled, "And that you were homosexual."

"Yes, that too," Spock responded as if that discovery were inconsequential in comparison.

Jim turned so he could meet the Vulcan's gaze, "I lied to you." At the prompting of Spock's eyebrow, he continued, "It's _you_, Spock. The _Enterprise _is home…because _you're_ there. This apartment is home right now, because you're in it with me…_You're_ my home, Spock."

The heart in his side ached with the weight of Jim's declaration, and he found it immensely hard to swallow. Spock placed a sweet kiss to Jim's lips before pressing their foreheads together, "As you are mine, T'hy'la." The moment stretched on as they continued to embrace, basking in the knowledge that as long as they were together, nothing would ever tear them apart.

Epilogue…sort of… OR What Happened to Matthews.

Dawn was slowly giving way to morning over the city of New Shi'Kar on Vafer-Tor, as sunlight began filtering through the windows of the new I'tsan-tor Hakausu Therapy Clinic. Junior Healer, T'Lan pulled her PADD from her desk and made her way down the corridor. The new facility had only opened eight months ago to take on their first patients, a mixture of species from all over the Alpha Quadrant. Many of them were out-patients that showed up to weekly scheduled sessions with their assigned healers, trying to overcome any number of behavioral and mental instabilities. Of course, there were also boarders that lived in apartments around the center, consisting of those who intended to leave the planet once their therapy was concluded or transferred to a different facility, most likely on Earth. Then, there were the in-patients, those who lived temporarily within the facility, requiring closer care and observation than the others.

T'Lan rounded the corner and bumped into one such patient, "Ooph," she heard the breath leave the human as he began to fall backward. She instinctively reached for his shoulders and steadied him, finally meeting his eyes. "Ah, Ted," T'Lan greeted her patient.

"Sorry," he said at the same time, eyes widened with shock. Ted had been running late for his morning group session and hadn't been paying attention. He gave T'Lan a nervous smile, "I wasn't paying attention."

T'Lan tilted her head, "Your apology—"

"Is Illogical?" He finished for her, chuckling slightly. "I know."

T'Lan regarded her patient for a moment, noticing the changes that had slowly begun to make themselves known. When Theodore Matthews had first arrived on Vafer-Tor, he had been shy and withdrawn, keeping to himself and radiating all manner of emotion—fear, trepidation, anxiety, remorse, guilt and self-loathing. T'Lan had read his file before he was admitted to the clinic as an in-patient, and quite frankly his reaction was most logical. He had, after all, been suffering from a psychotic break that resulted in the death of two Starfleet personnel and his own court martial. Upon his arrival, Ted had been surrounded by the very species that had become the focus of his delusion.

Looking at him now, four months later and one could see that he was sleeping and eating better and actually smiling upon occasion—a very good sign in humans. What was more, Ted had been opening up more during his sessions, speaking of his deceased family and the feelings associated with the circumstances of their demise. She remembered their discussion from three weeks ago:

"You often speak of growing weary of Vulcans gradually," T'Lan had addressed the young man seated across from her. "Is there any moment in particular, in which you recall that your anger toward Nero began to morph into xenophobic feelings toward Vulcans."

Ted had let out a weary breath, his brow furrowed, "I don't know," he started to say, but then his eyes widened as if he had just realized something he had over looked, "Wait. That's not true. I mean…I think…" he shook his head, "It was something I heard from a friend. A book he had read."

"A book," T'Lan prompted.

"Yeah," Matthews nodded, "Vulcan: A History. He was talking about ancient Vulcan wars and warriors and some new information that Starfleet had gotten from the surviving Vulcan elders about…" he blushed, knowing now that Pon Farr was an incredibly private and shameful experience for T'Lan's people, "about Vulcan mating cycles. He showed me an article in _Interstellar Times_ and I found some reports on the Net about…" he really didn't want to offend his counselor by continuing.

"Rapes," T'Lan's voice was, as usual, devoid of inflection. "Assaults associated with Pon Farr among male Vulcan refugees on Earth."

"Yeah," he nodded. "I didn't react to it right away, but," he let another heavy sigh, "but then it came out that Vulcans and Romulans are sort of like long-lost cousins, or something, and that's when I first started feeling paranoid."

"Please explain this paranoia," She had asked.

"When the photos of Nero and the Narada were released to the public, someone online had manipulated the photos of the Romulan Captain to show what he would look like without his tattoos and I remember thinking the resemblance was uncanny. At the same time, more and more Vulcans were enrolling into Starfleet, since the VSA was gone and…and I kept seeing _his_ face, everywhere. In every Vulcan student. I couldn't turn it off."

"What did you do?" T'Lan asked.

"I ignored them…avoided them…but at the same time I was researching everything I could find about Vulcan history, especially anything that referred any relationships to Romulans. I learned all about pre-reform era Vulcan and its ties to modern-day Romulus."

"You told your commanding officers on board the _Enterprise_ that you believed it was only a matter of time before Commander Spock and the rest of his kind reverted back to pre-Surak violence," T'Lan read from the file on her PADD.

"Yes," Ted had nodded, looking miserable. "I thought that if I got rid of Spock, I'd be making the _Enterprise _a _safer_ place for everyone." His eyes filled with unshed tears, remembering the explosion he had created in the shuttle bay not quite a year ago, "But I couldn't even save them from me…" tears spilled over the human's face, his guilt once again palatable without touch.

T'Lan approached her human patient and knelt before him, "And how do you feel now?"

"Like a fool," he managed between sobs. "I killed them…_me._ And what's worse," he choked, "I actually thought it'd make my parents _proud_ if I killed Mr. Spock." He had looked up at T'Lan then, "He melded with me, you know."

T'Lan nodded, "Yes, it was in the report. Though, I do not understand why he would do such a thing. A meld is a very…_invasive_ way to share information with psy-null species. Indeed, it is borderline unethical that he did so-"

"I told him to prove it," Matthews defended his former First Officer. "He told me that Vulcans feel more deeply and intensely than humans. I didn't believe him and I told him to prove it. I—I _wanted _him to do it…I knew he could feel it where our skin touched. I _wanted him_ to prove me _right_. When he put his hand to my face, I feared he might try to manipulate me, but I didn't care…I _gave him_ permission—and then, he showed me something."

"What did he show you?" T'Lan asked, knowing that this experience had been paramount in bringing her patient back from the brink of insanity.

"His…" Ted swallowed hard, his voice little more than a whisper, "He showed me his mother—how she died on Vulcan, how he had been _right there_, and he still wasn't able to save her. I felt his pain and his guilt…just like my own, suffocating and eternal—and I _knew_."

"What did you know?" T'Lan pressed.

"How wrong I was…how sick," his tears were falling again. "I'm not a murderer and yet…I am." Ted curled further in on himself, "I don't know if I can live with this. I don't know if want to. How could I do this? Oh, God—"

T'Lan had taken the human in her arms and rocked him, a new technique Vulcan healers had adopted with the recent turmoil among their species. Her human psychology mentor had often said, _'Sometimes, the best remedy is kindness and a hug.'_ T'Lan had spent many months studying the work of Dr. Virginia Satir, a touch therapy pioneer and she found the doctor's arguments in favor of this type of treatment highly logical. Vulcans and humans were not so unalike in the ways of emotion and touch. In fact, the only difference was intensity. Vulcans' sense of touch is heightened as it is directly tied to their telepathic abilities. Emotions, too, are felt more intensely due to Vulcan neurology, which is the primary motivation behind adopting logic and denying the hold of emotion over decision making. In short, humans were not the only ones, especially in recent years, in need of physical reassurance and comfort. T'Lan had found her hands and arms wrapped around numerous shoulders, stroking backs and rocking back and forth.

As she observed Matthews now, standing in the hallway, she had a very illogical feeling that he would eventually be okay. The man before her was showing signs of increasing self-esteem and confidence. He had even been socializing with the other in-patients, offering words of comfort when someone broke down during group sessions. She released his shoulders and stepped back, "Not illogical, simply unnecessary, I was distracted as well." She allowed her mouth to quirk upward slightly at his shocked expression, "Come. We are headed to the same location. It is only logical that we continue together."

Matthew nodded his assent and they made their way to meeting room on Wing A. Ted observed his companion and doctor from the corner of his eyes. Healer T'Lan had been the first Vulcan to greet him upon his arrival at the Bridget to Healing Therapy Clinic, and he'd been scared shitless of the fact that he'd be surrounded by Vulcan's on Vafer-Tor, under their constant judgment and scrutiny for the terrible things he'd done. He had anticipated open animosity for former his opinions—well known by the doctors there—recorded in his personal logs found on his confiscated PADD. But it never came.

T'Lan's sessions were devoid of accusation and there was neither disgust nor judgment when she asked him about his stint as a modern-day, solo Klan Grand Wizard. Instead, he had been met with compassion and concern and effective therapy. At least, he felt like it was effective. Certainly, he wasn't seeing Nero's face everywhere and the guilt he felt about not being able to save his parents had diminished more and more with every story he heard from his fellow in-patients.

He had even managed to befriend a Vulcan named Stonn—who'd lost it for a few months after failing to save his intended, T'Pring from the implosion. He'd been on Earth at the time too, representing the VSA at a conference in San Francisco, and developed a nasty phobia of all things outdoor and especially space after her death—agoraphobia, Stonn had called it. Ted liked Stonn, immensely, and even though the Vulcan was an out-patient, living just outside of New Shi'Kar, they still spent a lot of time together on the grounds.

Apparently, Stonn had grown up with Commander Spock and he confessed to Ted that he had been terrible to the Commander as a child. That, actually, almost everyone had condescended to the half-Vulcan because of his human heritage and that the irony was not lost on him that Spock's human blood is what allowed him to handle his grief more effectively than the majority of Vulcan's refugees.

Matthews had actually written a letter of apology to Spock, the crew he had injured and the families of the two he had killed, even though he knew they would likely hate him forever. He was surprised to have actually received a reply from the Commander, basically telling him that he was pleased to see the progress Ted had made on Vafer-Tor and that he will accept Ted's apology, ending his letter with a 'live long and prosper.' While he wasn't sure if he'd ever forgive _himself_ for the terrible things he'd done, his shoulders felt just a little bit lighter with the knowledge that at least Spock didn't hatehim, that at least one person of the many he had hurt could forgive him. It gave him hope that redemption was achievable. That maybe, just maybe, he could start over—maybe stay on Vafer-Tor and help the Vulcans with rebuilding.

Stonn had told Ted that he'd like to show him around his property next weekend and that they could analyze soil samples together, since they were both geologists. Apparently, their minds were highly compatible…whatever that meant. For now, he was seated in a circle, facing the group. It was his turn to stand, state his name and why he was there. New patients were always entering the clinic and so they always introduced themselves at the start of every session where there were new patients. Today, there were three.

Ted stood in front the group, and took a breath, "My name is Ted Matthews, and I have post-traumatic stress disorder. Eight months ago, I suffered a severe psychotic break, which led to…" and so it went on. Slowly, one day at time, one breath after another, with the help of the very race he had once held such unrepentant hatred toward, pain slowly retreated and in its place hope began to blossom.


End file.
